Porcelain Dust
by Feael Silmarien
Summary: 1786: 55-year-old Shay returns to New York to aid what is left of the American Templars. Unexpectedly for himself, he ends up having an affair with the 20-year-old Assassin he is tasked to spy on. Naturally, it's only a matter of time until this odd relationship puts them both in grave danger ...
1. The Queen of New York

**Porcelain Dust**

Author: Feael Silmarien

Rating: M

Genre: Drama, Romance

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft, and I don't earn money with this fan fiction.

Summary: 1786: 55-year-old Shay returns to New York to aid what is left of the American Templars. Unexpectedly for himself, he ends up having an affair with the 20-year-old Assassin he is tasked to spy on. Naturally, it's only a matter of time until this odd relationship puts them both in grave danger ...

A/N: This fan fiction is set in the same fan universe as my other AC story _Assassin's Creed III: Compromise_. You don't need to have read the other story in order to follow this one, though. Everything you need to know will be explained. Just please don't be surprised about the mention of some characters and events that didn't happen in the canon. This story is written from Shay's perspective and he wasn't involved in the plot of _Compromise_ , so he doesn't know any more than you.

* * *

 _"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."_

\- Orson Welles

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Queen of New York**

How many times can a man die? In any case, more than once. The first time it happened to me it was, I guess, at the age of sixteen when I was lying in some alley of New York and watched the rats sniff at the puddle of blood and vomit next to me. The world felt heavy, dull and far away, and instead of trying to move away from this sickening place I just enjoyed the peace, wondering why it didn't bother me that every part of my body was screaming in pain.

It had to be the whisky, I realized as I remembered about the bottle in my hand. With a little rise of hope I turned my gaze at it, just to get disappointed: Ah, yes, I had used it as a weapon, so it was broken and empty. I grumbled something that wasn't even words and threw that damn thing away. Sometimes life just wasn't fair.

I grumbled once again and closed my eyes as ...

"Shay!"

Whoever it was to disrupt my moment of painful peace, I hated him.

"You're alive!"

Now he was examining me, and I realized that I didn't hate him after all.

"Why are you always in such a state when I find you?"

"They asked for it," I grunted, nodding at a blood trail, a silent reminder of a head I had rammed against the wall.

"'They?' How many? You're lucky they didn't kill you!"

"How many times do I have to tell you? I make my own luck, Liam."

* * *

The story of how I became an Assassin isn't a glorious one. And the story of how I became a Templar is even worse. But for some reason they're both tied to New York. After I lost my father, infested the taverns for beer, whisky and trouble and was eventually rescued by Liam I was reborn as an Assassin, here in New York, the city where I was born and grew up. After I died in Lisbon during the earthquake and committed suicide near the Davenport Manor I was reborn, once again, in New York in order to become a Templar.

I had shared a connection with many people during that defining time of my life. Now they were all gone: Hope Jensen - dead; Kesegowaase - dead; de la Vérendrye - dead; Adéwalé - dead; George Monro - dead; Jack Weeks - dead; Christopher Gist - dead; Haytham Kenway - dead; James Cook - dead; Achilles - dead; Liam - dead. They had entered and left my life, passing it like swift shadows. It was the December of 1786, I was fifty five years old, and I had outlived them all.

I wondered what New York had in store for me this time as the snow scrunched under my feet. I hadn't been here for twenty seven years. The city had survived epidemics, fires and a revolution. It certainly had moved on without me. So was it still _my_ New York? After all, this city and the Morrigan were the last I hadn't outlived yet.

The streets, of course, were still there, but some buildings were new. Others looked different. Some were missing. I was wondering, actually, what happened to my old home, Fort Arsenal, yet I was sure I didn't really want to know it yet. This was why I had decided to leave the Morrigan at the docks on the eastern side. I didn't want the memories to swamp me. For I was on a mission.

An important and hard mission, I supposed, remembering the warning that three Templars had lost their lives as they tried to accomplish it. It was a mission on a territory controlled by Assassins, so probably this was why it had been decided that I was a perfect candidate to try it next. I knew New York and I knew the Assassins. Or so they thought. For I had known Achilles' Brotherhood, but about Connor and his men I knew just as much as any other Templar. Yet I had never rejected a difficult task. I made my own luck, and I would do it this time as well.

* * *

When I arrived at the house of John Lamb I was told he wasn't home. They hadn't expected me so early, but they offered me to stay and have dinner while waiting. I declined the offer with thanks, as my brain produced a much better idea: Close to where I had left the Morrigan I had spotted an intriguing tavern that received quite tender looks from many sailors and dock workers whispering something about a "queen" and "Cleopatra". As a man who had never given up exploring the beauty of women I considered it my sacred duty to have a look at this temptress, and so I found myself heading back through the city until I stood in front of the signboard of the Black Horse Tavern.

To be honest, inside it wasn't very spectacular: a tavern like many others. Wooden tables, a counter, a fireplace, hungry men, pretty many of them at two o'clock, some musicians, two waitresses and a waiter. But then I saw _her_. There couldn't be any doubt that "Cleopatra" was supposed to be her, who came breezing around the corner, carrying three steins of beer.

She wasn't very tall, and despite being anything but fat it was hard to overlook that she didn't suffer hunger. Yet she moved with the lightness of a fairy, barefoot, walking on her tiptoes. Her hair, I noticed, wasn't just blonde, but had a tinge of red that gave it the colour of pure gold, shining in the light of the fire. Her locks were flying around as she moved, almost untamed by the hairpins that kept her mane out of her face. A plain, light blue dress covered her curvaceous stature and I suspected that her butt could easily compete with those I had seen in Havana. At least, the content of her cleavage did ...

It tickled as she pressed her nose against my neck without any warning. Having been lost in admiration, it was just now that I realized she had approached me.

"So much salt ... A new arrival from across the Atlantic, huh?" she said with a low voice as she let go of my neck and looked up at me with her greyish-blue eyes.

"Bristol," I nodded, breathing in her scent and resisting the magnetic power of her décolletage with all my might.

She smiled.

"Ever been to New York?" she asked and slightly touched my elbow, inviting me to follow.

I couldn't suppress a chuckle. "I was born here."

"Really?" She whirled around and looked at me like a sheriff at a criminal during an interrogation. "Why don't I know you?"

I didn't answer immediately, carefully examining her face, young and fresh like spring blossoms ... Eighteen? Nineteen? Early twenties?

"When I was here last time you weren't even born," I finally said.

She didn't look very impressed, giving me a cheeky grin: "Well, then you've missed all the interesting events. But don't worry, the current debates are interesting too." Then she pushed me on a chair and something tender appeared in her gaze. "So what can I bring you, handsome?"

I ordered dinner which turned out to be _spaetzle_ , a southern German - Swabian, as she pointed out - dish that I didn't know yet, and I also asked her to bring an apple and a cup of tea. I didn't need more than that, especially after several months of poor diet. I knew from bitter experience how bad it was to eat much when the stomach wasn't used to it anymore.

While I was waiting I couldn't help but notice that for some reason I had become the center of attention. The other guests were giving me surreptitious looks, turning away their faces when I looked back. The lively chat around me got intermixed with whisper, and I heard the words "queen" and "Cleopatra" even more often than before. - And there also was the word "Valley".

The "queen" herself leaned against the counter and was the only one in the room who didn't avert her eyes from me. It was even quite the opposite: She watched me like a mountain lioness watches her prey. As if her eyes could see more than those of other humans - as if they could see through any material, through clothes. It was a gaze that made me tense up like a startled rabbit.

There couldn't be any mistake about her status here: While the two waitresses and the waiter served the guests she moved through the tavern as she pleased, and even the guests looked at her with respect. The sailors and dock workers talked to her politely, asking for another drink or portion with "excuse me" and "please". Judging by how her customers talked about her she usually wasn't rude, but today she would just shout the name of one of her subordinates and point at the man addressing her with her gaze still resting on me. The eyes of her guest would switch to me as well and then he would quickly look away.

When one of the waitresses brought my plate, she pried it out of her hands and approached me again. For a few seconds her eyes rested on my Templar ring, but then she put the plate on my table.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," she said. "We don't cook everything at once, since our guests come at different times and we don't want the last ones to have a cold meal."

"This isn't what I'm used from taverns," I admitted honestly, remembering countless rebellions of my stomach after the pigswill served in most taverns I had visited so far.

"And this is the reaction I'm used from newcomers," the "queen" said and suddenly planted her beautiful buttocks on my table. "This place is what it is only thanks to me. While my father was still alive it was just one tavern of many. But now it's the trendsetter for food quality and prices in all of New York. This development cost me only two years."

Well, this woman definitely didn't suffer from low self-esteem, I concluded, although I was sure that the looks of its "queen" were an important factor for the tavern's success, too.

"And you are ... Valley?" I asked, putting together the scraps of conversation around me.

A playful rosiness bloomed across her face as she leaned forward until she was actually lying on the table, her face close to mine.

"Exactly."

In this pose she offered me the best view at her bosom and I knew she did it on purpose. In public. In New York and not Havana.

I swallowed. Her face was so close. I looked at her smooth skin, so fair and delicate like the finest porcelain. Her bright eyes, her golden locks ... This was what angels were supposed to look like. - Only that there was no doubt about that she was everything _but_ an angel.

I'm sure Valley read my mind, as her blush increased and she smiled.

"Eat," she said sitting up and jumping from my table. Yet before she left she decided to circle me slowly and suddenly embraced me from behind. "You'll need your strength," she whispered in my ear.

For a few moments I sat motionlessly, not sure what to think about such an offensive from a New York woman. Then I looked around and noticed that once again I was the center of attention. Was there ... fear rising in me? I looked again at Valley who didn't watch me any longer but turned her attention to the other guests whose faces immediately lightened up as if they were presented some very special gift.

Then I felt somebody touching my arm and turned my gaze at a sailor leaning over from a table next to mine.

"You're marked," he said with such a serious expression as if he was talking about some bad omen.

* * *

The clew of yellow threads called _spaetzle_ mixed with fried onions and minced meat turned out to be one of the most delicious dishes I have eaten in my entire life. At first I found it a bit strange-looking, but when I watched the other guests consume it quite enthusiastically I finally tried and wasn't disappointed: I had absolutely no idea what those threads were made of, but I subconsciously increased my speed, swallowing one bunch of threads after another. If this wasn't a good argument to rent a room here, then something was wrong with this world.

I couldn't remember when I had felt so happy and satisfied on a walk to receive a mission last time. Delicious _spaetzle_ , a beautiful fairy as a landlady - who needed all the luxury I could afford in theory? And even if the lioness was going to hunt me - for that butt I'd gladly be the prey!

"Master Cormac! Please excuse my absence when you first came here!" John Lamb greeted me as soon as I entered his study. He smiled, shook my hand and invited me to sit.

"I assure you, General, I've spent the time better than I could have even dreamed of," I replied, settling back and still feeling the blissfulness in my stomach.

"Then I'm relieved," Lamb smiled again. "So shall we exchange some more pleasantries or just get down to business?"

"The latter sounds good," I said with my mind still circling around rosy-cheeked Valley lying on my table.

"Alright then!" Lamb cleared his throat and straightened his back, putting on a firm expression. There couldn't be any doubt about who he used to be before he became Collector of the Port of New York: a determined Son of Liberty and commander of the Second Continental Artillery Regiment.

"I'm sure you already have the most important information about our situation: Connor, the son of Grand Master Haytham Kenway, and his Assassins are in control of almost everything and we Templars lurk in the shadows. Our major attempt to restore the Order two and a half years ago resulted in a disaster, mainly because of our own inner conflicts."

I nodded. "I was told about the hostage-taking of Connor's men and the Nathaniel Cross incident. Dozens of Templars and city guards dead and Fort Rodrigo in the Caribbean lost to the Assassins; a whole Templar fleet destroyed."

"There is more," Lamb said. "That whole affair brought Connor together with Meggie the Parrot. You probably haven't heard of her ... In the late sixties and early seventies she was an angry kid, the daughter of an Assassin of the old Brotherhood, trying to avenge her mother on her own, having business with smugglers and occasionally making money as a contract killer. Later she disguised herself as a man, joined the Continental Army and after the war she unknowingly married one of our fellow knights. And she was also a close friend to Master Nathaniel Cross." He sighed. "Long story short, she murdered her husband, helped Connor to kill her best friend, lives now in the Davenport Manor and is the mother of Connor's son. What is important, she compensates for Connor's greatest weaknesses: honesty, naivety and idealism. He might have been manipulable earlier, but now he has Meggie. It's her who has built a semi-criminal network all over the States in order to stabilize the Assassin influence. Unlike Connor, she doesn't follow a moral code and often acts against the principles of the Creed.

"Because of her we can't gain a foothold in North America again. Not if we try to establish our order the traditional way. Assassin spies are everywhere. Our new strategy is to use the Assassin information network to our advantage. And the key to this strategy is a young Assassin recruit called Walburga Frederike Fern, née Meisser. She has contact with the Assassins only since the Nathaniel Cross incident and joined the Brotherhood officially less than two years ago, but she has turned out to be a very precious ally to them: She lives here in New York and runs a very frequented tavern, so you can imagine how much information comes across her just by itself. And apart from that, she's an exceptionally pretty woman and knows how to ... handle men and loose tongues. Despite being married she probably has slept with half of the men in this city, she has good contacts with powerful officials and can make almost every man work for her. She's only twenty years old, but in less than two years she has gained incredible power and has become the center of the Assassin information network."

Hearing this, I felt my now much less happy stomach convulse. Why did I have such a bad feeling about this?

"Your task will be to tail her," the general continued mercilessly. "Find out who she talks to, how the network functions, intercept letters, sprinkle misinformation ... and most importantly, don't get caught. As you already know, your three predecessors were brutally killed after only a few days. Mistress Fern refuses to carry any weapons and fights with whatever she can find. So instead of a clean cut through the throat our last spy ended up with a tree branch rammed through his left eye. You should have seen the face of the washerwoman who found his corpse hidden behind a fence."

The sweet cloud-castle of good mood and plans collapsed like a house of cards as I faced the eternal unfairness and irony of life.

"I'm afraid it's too late to not get caught," I said, staring motionlessly out of the window. "If this Mistress Fern is also known as Valley, then she's my well-spent time during your absence."

Lamb's jaw dropped and he went all pale. "Did she figure out who you are?"

"Sure she did," I replied with a brief look at my Templar ring.

Lamb widened his eyes.

"You're a dead man."

"Not necessarily," I said as an unexpected thought came to my mind. I jumped up to my feet and walked towards the window, as if the answer was written on the skyline. "What you told me about her may be true, but she's not a femme fatale. Such women are usually good actresses, yet Valley, on the contrary, is exceptionally honest. She doesn't hide that she likes attention. She does what she wants, and her wishes are written all over her face. She can be rude to other people without meaning and even noticing it when she's focussed on something else. Just like a child. She may be a 'queen', but she's not a 'Cleopatra'."

Lamb raised an eyebrow. "What if she's just a _very_ good actress?"

"She isn't," I said firmly. "If she were, she wouldn't have eyed me so obviously."

"She eyed you?"

"Why, yes," I smirked. "She has a good taste, actually. But she might still want to kill me."

"This sounds a bit like you have a plan," Lamb said slowly and with visible difficulties to keep up.

I felt like I was ready to go as I turned to him and smiled. "I haven't. But I might figure out one if I observe the situation for a bit longer."

"You're dead man, Shay," Lamb repeated, remaining deathly pale. "Yet still, good luck."

"I make my own luck," I said decisively as I walked out of the room.

* * *

Just what was I doing? The realization that Valley wasn't a maneater had made me more optimistic than Lamb, but she still was an Assassin, so I had to be careful when I returned to the Black Horse Tavern. Actually, I couldn't stop wondering why she hadn't tried to kill me during my first visit. After everything I had done to Achilles' Brotherhood I was sure the American Assassins wouldn't hesitate to cut my throat at the very first opportunity. Valley was a very young member, yet it was unlikely she didn't know about the Templars the Assassins hated most. So why hadn't she tried to kill me? Considering what she had done to my three predecessors she didn't seem to have any scruples carrying out her Assassin duties.

The moment I darkened the door of the Black Horse Tavern I remembered that I had been "marked". What did it mean? The sailor who had told me that seemed to know Valley's habits, and given the gazes I received once I entered the tavern for the second time almost every one of her guests knew them as well. Was it some kind of a ritual? I couldn't help but feel like I had gotten into some weird sect.

Valley's guests obviously admired her, and it was difficult to say who served whom. It was Valley who provided them with food and ale, but it was them who were as nice, polite and submissive as possible. Everyone tried not to miss an opportunity to say a compliment, some tried to engage her in a conversation and others just sighed in disappointment, giving me jealous looks. Since Valley wasn't the only pretty woman in this world, yet one of the very few who had their own cult, I figured that the relationship between her and her guests was more complicated than mere admiration of her beauty and that it would take me some time to fully understand it. Yet I had to try. I was sure her guests were unknowingly part of the Assassin information network.

This would be a long evening full of concentration and observing, so I decided to soothe it with an ale. Having a stein in my hand would be much less suspicious anyway. So I asked one of the waitresses to give me one, found a nice place by a window, leaned against the wall and followed every step of Valley's with my gaze, trying to understand her strategy.

She hadn't been in the room when I entered, and I had blended in with the other guests, so she didn't notice my presence at first. She still wore her blue dress, breezing barefoot over the wooden floor, but this time there was a plain black ribbon with a steel Assassin symbol around her neck. Her other guests didn't seem to pay much attention to it, and they actually didn't have to; because she wore it solely for me.

Why did she do it? Was it a warning? Why would she warn me? Some less rational part of my mind offered the theory that she might just try to be fair, because she had identified me as a Templar while it was obvious that I hadn't identified her as an Assassin. Or maybe she knew about my meeting with Lamb and thought that it didn't help to hide her Assassin identity any longer. Or she wanted to reassure me that she really was my enemy.

I thought about her porcelain skin that had been so close to me only a few hours ago and muttered a curse. I knew how to deal with beautiful women and I knew how to deal with Assassin women trying to kill me. But only once I had been in a situation when I had to deal with a beautiful Assassin woman trying to kill me. Or maybe she wasn't really trying to kill me. I never found out why Hope didn't just kill me when I was lying in front of her and decided to poison me with gas instead. The only thing I understood about that night was that it was one of the worst experiences in my life and that I didn't want it to repeat.

"Pity ... You had so much potential ..." And her fingers caressing my face. Maybe in another world everything would have worked out differently and I wouldn't have missed chances, wouldn't have killed those who used to be precious to me and I wouldn't be the last man alive from those times.

I noticed that I was peering into nowhere, turned my gaze back to Valley and ... this was when we locked eyes; when she noticed my presence, staring at me across the room with her beautiful eyes and her cheeks rosy like cherry blossoms. Her bosom rose and sank as she breathed deeply, yet her expression was serious and wary, and this time her eyes didn't seem to look through clothes but tried to read my mind.

As heat pulsed through my veins I realized that coming back here was the worst thing I could have done. Everything around me suddenly blurred to a rush of monotonous colours and silent humming, and something inside me burned, yearning to burst outside and take control over my mind and body.

I knew what had to be done: Without any further hesitation I left my stein on the sill and hastened towards the exit, hoping that Valley would stay away from me.

But she didn't. Just before I reached the door she appeared right in front of me, so close that I could even smell her. I stood like rooted to the spot and felt like a thirteen-year-old boy seeing a woman so close for the first time. Coming here ... bad idea ... I was on a mission ...

"You're marked," she whispered as she stood up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around my neck. "And besides, it's cold outside."

I couldn't believe how easily I gave up on my life as I let her kiss me.

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	2. No Love in the Otherworld

**Chapter 2: No Love in the Otherworld**

Somewhen, somewhere I realized that I was awake, wrapped in warmth and silkiness. Everything was quiet, reminding me of how long it's been since the last time I enjoyed such a peaceful morning. Yet I was still on a mission and after a short struggle I finally sat up for a better look.

Was I dead? If I was, then they had "The Prince" by Niccolò Machiavelli lying by the edge of the bed in the otherworld. They had a wood-panelled room with glowing embers in the fireplace, a few cupboards, two bookshelves, a dressing table, the wide bed I had woken up in and my clothes lying everywhere on the floor. It was quite alright for me.

The howling wind outside strengthened my desire to bury myself in blankets again, yet I slowly stood up, freezing, as I turned out to be completely naked, and picked up my boots, shirt and trousers. As soon as I was at least rudimentarily dressed I stepped out and started my search for my fairy who had bewitched and abducted me without giving me any hints about her unholy plans.

The mood in the tavern was very sleepy except for a few guests who had to get ready for a busy day, yet there weren't as many people as yesterday and even the servants worked leisurely. Occasionally the quiet was shaken up by pistol shots outside, but nobody seemed to notice.

I decided that I knew where to look for the "queen", walked through the kitchen and opened the back door. And yes, there was Valley in a modest blue dress, standing in the cold and missing the gun barrel with the ramrod as she tried to reload her pistol.

"Is this all the Assassins have got?" I teased her, leaning against the door frame.

She looked up and gave me a cool stare. "No. Ask your three predecessors. And I don't like weapons anyway, be it silly blades or clumsy pistols. I do this training just for decency's sake."

Sure the fate of my predecessors spoke for itself, but as I looked at the target I couldn't help but wonder: "You can't wield any weapons at all, can you? What about the Leap of Faith? There was a time when certain skills were required to be an Assassin."

Valley just sighed. "I can't wield any weapons, I can't perform the Leap of Faith, I can't climb buildings, I can't ride a horse and I can't swim. So what? I don't need that. I'm good at what I do, and that's enough. I don't need all that stuff, because I don't kill anyone unless I have no other choice. And I really try not to get in such situations."

"As an Assassin, you'll always find yourself in such situations."

"And then I'll kill."

Well, I couldn't deny she sounded pretty confident. Yet ...

"Just how on earth were you accepted into the Brotherhood?"

"I wanted it, and Connor owed me a favour."

I couldn't stop my jaw from dropping. "You always get what you want, do you?"

"Aye."

She gave me a grin as she finished reloading her pistol and raised it, holding it with both hands and struggling a bit with the size of her bosom as she tried to aim with bent arms.

Unable to bear it anymore, I used my last strength to suppress a chuckle and stepped right behind her. I turned her sideways, took her left hand and guided it away while I laid my right hand on hers and made her stretch out her arm.

"Don't hesitate too much," I whispered in her ear. "The longer you aim the lesser the chance you'll hit the target. The pistol is heavy, and if you wait too long your hand will shake. And hold your breath."

As Valley jerked with the blowback and the smell of gunpowder surrounded us I looked at the target. She didn't hit the bull's eye, but this hit was much closer than the previous ones.

"See? Th-"

A sudden pain struck my stomach before I could finish. The target started to move before my eyes and I felt as if my internal organs would jump out of my throat any moment as I crooked and struggled for balance.

"I know what you're here for," Valley said with a hardness in her voice that made me shiver. "I knew it from the very beginning. I know exactly who you are and what you did. But I didn't kill you, because I don't see any reason yet. Don't give me one. This is a warning."

I didn't answer. Still gasping for air, I simply couldn't.

She bent down and looked at me, suddenly smiling.

"Come on," she said. "This isn't the first hit you take, is it? I have a free room with a view to the docks, so you can look at your Morrigan all day. As long as you behave and don't fall in love with me everything's alright. You gorgeous honey cake of a man."

* * *

On the mantelpiece there were a clock and a portrait of Lamb's wife Catherine. The general himself sat in a chair on the other side of the fireplace and listened carefully as I reported about my miraculous journey to the otherworld.

"I'm glad you're alive," he said as soon as I finished. "Yet the whole situation is ... unusual."

I took a sip of coffee. "I'm going to spy on her, and she's going to spy on me. We'll be fine."

"Are you really sure she won't try to kill you? You're celebrated as one of our best men. We can't afford to lose you."

Maybe that moment when I let her kiss me was my third death. Just like the night when Liam found me in the alley and when I jumped off the cliff in the Davenport Homestead. And once again I lived.

"If she wanted to kill me she would have done it already," I replied. "I think she rather wants to do the same as us. We aren't strong yet, but the Assassins know that if they don't keep an eye on our activities we'll become a serious enemy. They would be fools if they didn't take every opportunity to watch us."

"And are you sure you can keep important information out of her reach?"

"No. Which is why I shouldn't be involved in any other activities than watching the information network."

"Pity," the general sighed. "We could use your skill in other parts of this country sometimes. But you're right. You should only take care of the network. How do you intend to approach it?"

I took another sip and leaned back. During breakfast and the walk here I had had enough time to think everything through. Valley's skills, my own ... and last night. She seemed to always know what she was doing and why. Despite being obviously aroused she had checked my private parts for diseases with the proficiency of a physician. And this morning as she had surprised and hit me with great precision. Nothing uncontrolled seemed to happen around her. Ever.

"It won't make much sense to shadow Valley if I don't even know how the network is organized," I began to explain. "I'm sure the Assassins take measures to prevent outsiders from understanding anything of their interaction - or even noticing it. Not all Assassins take such measures, of course - I've seen different; but I would be surprised if someone as planning and cautious as Valley isn't one of those who do. So first I need to learn about the network as much as I can. Who is involved, who is connected to whom and how, what the secret signs are, meeting points, ways of information exchange ... I suspect that some of Valley's guests and admirers might be part of it, so I'll watch them first. And besides, she'll expect me to tail her which will reduce my chances of finding anything out by doing so even further. I will start watching her only when she gets used to the situation and lets her guard down."

Lamb nodded. "I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Aye. I'll start with reading the archive of the Colonial and American Rite. I haven't been here for twenty seven years. I need to get familiar with the new American Assassins and their ways."

"At once," Lamb said, sounding a bell. "Master Lee left it in my possession as he fled from Fort George right before Connor infiltrated it. I was ordered to keep it safe."

Just as he finished talking a boy came floor-sliding into the room. A short and slender one, about thirteen years old, with ruffled hair and bright green eyes.

Lamb looked at him with an almost fatherly expression. "Bring the cherry wood box, please. The one you're always staring at."

The boy's eyes seemed even brighter as they started to sparkle. He nodded and was out of the room the next moment.

"Jim, my apprentice," Lamb smiled. "Always eager to learn more about the Order. He used to live on the street and tried to steal my purse. I decided that it would be a waste to leave such a bundle of energy without dedication for a noble cause, so I took him in. He has become good friends with my son."

"The future of the Order, is it?" I looked at the general who was just about my age. Two remnants of the once so strong Colonial Rite ... "May I ask you why you weren't killed by the Assassins?" I suddenly asked.

Lamb gave me a sad smile.

"They didn't know I was a Templar," he said. "Haytham Kenway was truly a foresightful leader. When he realized that Connor was going to defeat the Order he took care to leave behind a seed the Assassins didn't know about, so one day we would rise again."

"And who had better chances to survive the destruction of the Order by Assassins than one of the Sons of Liberty whom they considered their allies," I nodded, not having expected anything less from the first Grand Master of the Colonial Rite.

"This is why it was me who was ordered to stay in the shadows and watch the others being murdered one by one," Lamb sighed. He paused, then stood up and started pacing up and down. "To do nothing to stop this slaughter," he continued and his voice slightly quavered. "It wasn't easy, for this war was different than any other I experienced before. It was pure fratricide. We were angry, yes. We felt suppressed and treated like second-class citizens, yes. We wanted representation in the parliament, yes. We were ready to fight for our rights - oh yes! But a war in which families were split, in which neighbour fought neighbour ... This was not what we originally intended. I'm glad we have our own nation now, for the Crown wouldn't have granted us the rights we demanded. But I also learned that liberty isn't enough. True freedom requires purpose and order. A nation filled with uncertainty about the future isn't truly free. Peace is the key to freedom. Peace and a common goal that will protect the nation from being split again. The revolution was in fact a civil war, and I don't want this nation to make this dreadful experience ever again. I love my people, and I will do anything to protect it."

"An honourable goal," I said when he finished, trying to suppress a stitch in my chest. What used to be my home really had moved on without me. There had been a revolution, great pain, a new nation had been created, New York had changed and people had been born, grown up and got married during my absence - people like Valley. And I ... was a walking anachronism.

The coffee seemed to have a soothing effect on me, so I took another sip. My mission was just starting, so I couldn't afford getting weak. As for Lamb, he too seemed to struggle, taking a few deep breaths and then returning to his chair. We remained both silent until Jim came back with the box.

* * *

John Lamb and I both had demons of the past to struggle with. Different demons, but we both were haunted. I liked him, and he even reminded me a bit of Colonel Monro. Calm for the most time and caring. I'm sure the colonel had had to fight demons too, even though he had never shown it. Much like Lamb and me. Old Templars. All of us.

Thinking this made me remember that I was just two years younger than Monro when he died. Yes, I wasn't young anymore. Though I didn't like to admit it, my right knee had kept reminding me of this fact for three years now. My back too rebelled sometimes. With gritted teeth and a bandage to stabilize my knee climbing and fighting were still possible. But the time when I was twenty had long passed.

And Lamb had it better than me. He didn't rely on his combat skills anymore, he had a house, Catherine, his son and Jim. I had but memories of a bunch of dead people. And of a New York that didn't exist anymore. I don't know what a masochistic mood made me do this, but on my way back to the Black Horse Tavern after a whole day of reading I suddenly found myself in a part of the city that wasn't as familiar as it was supposed to be. Was it really the house where my aunt and I used to live? Were it really the streets I used to walk, calling Janet Sullivan ugly names, getting trounced by her brothers and bleeding as I made my way home? Where my aunt would scold me for causing trouble again and then urge me to be as virtuous as our neighbour's unbearably boring idiot of a son Brian O'Neill?

I couldn't resist the flood of memories, and so the cold, snowy December evening of 1786 turned into a cold, snowy December Sunday of 1744, a mass of the Advent season, and although I liked Father Connolly and owed him my literacy I found that forcing a thirteen-year-old to sit still for seemingly a whole eternity should officially be declared torture. Desperately trying to find anything meaningful to do, I began searching my pockets and - hallelujah! - I found some pebbles. I had absolutely no idea of how they got there, but it was just the magic of my pockets where you could always find something unexpected. With a devilish smile on my face I turned my head to Janet and aimed, then quickly looked away. I barely could suppress an outburst of my triumphant feelings as I watched her from the corner of my eye. Mission accomplished: She turned around and made a very unholy gesture in my direction, acknowledging my existence after a whole week of ignoring it. But one does not simply ignore Shay Patrick Cormac when he is making his own luck!

As soon as Janet turned her attention back to Father Connolly I allowed myself a grin and prepared another attack. Which I was forced to cancel as my aunt's hand slapped the back of my head. Damn ... I just gritted my teeth, staring at my feet and shoving the pebbles back in my pocket.

Fate seriously turned against me two months later when Janet died from influenza. I cried a lot then with my face turned to a dark corner and my pillow soaked with tears. Sometimes I would sneak out at night and visit her grave, stay for too long and get slapped by my worrying aunt upon my return. Poor woman. I definitely wasn't the easiest child to look after.

* * *

It was late when I finally returned to the Black Horse Tavern. There were only a few drunks sitting in a corner while Lisa, one of the younger waitresses, tried to persuade them to go to bed. I silently slipped past them and climbed the stairs to the room Valley had reserved for me. It was quite fine, not too big and not too small, clean and with a window to the seaside, just as Valley had described. My men had done their work well, having brought all my personal belongings here, so there wasn't much left for me to do except for dropping my coat and weapons and leaving for the landlord's bedroom.

I couldn't help but wonder, actually, whether Henry Fern knew about his wife's activities. During breakfast I had been told that he had used to be a close friend and business partner of her father's and had inherited the tavern through the marriage. Since he was a merchant who travelled a lot and wasn't interested in running a tavern anyway he had left his wife in charge. Two or three times a year he would visit New York to see how things were going and leave after only a few days. Even if Valley didn't have such a liking for men, under these conditions one couldn't expect a wife to be faithful. I had met just too many of such women in my life to know what I was talking about. And hadn't even Russia's empress Catherine II explained her long row of lovers with having been forced to marry a moron? Sure the handsome young officers around her had been much more interesting than Peter III still playing with his tin soldiers. So unfaithfulness is what naturally happens if a wife isn't given any reason to take her husband seriously.

When I reached Valley's bedroom, I knocked and entered without waiting for a reply, finding the landlady sitting naked and cross-legged on the bed and reading "The Prince". At first glance there was absolutely nothing seductive about her bent posture and her elbows planted on her thighs as she held the book in one hand and a cup of chocolate in the other. Yet at the same time this sight really had its cozy and slightly clumsy charm, especially when she looked up and gave me a pouting look, not aware of the chocolate sticking to her upper lip.

"I thought you were supposed to spy on me", she said coldly. "Where have you been all day? Leaving just like that right after breakfast and coming back in the middle of the night! I expected you to come at least for dinner! Anna made delicious schnitzels today and I picked the best apple for you. I noticed you like them. But I hate apples, Shay. And yet, I picked one to give you a treat and you didn't even show up! I hate you!"

I closed the door and leaned against it. "Maybe I just didn't want to get hit again."

"I told you it was a warning, silly," she replied. "Just a warning from an Assassin to a Templar. Nothing personal. So now come here." Her face suddenly softened. "I've waited for you long enough. If you want to wash yourself, water is over there."

On the dresser there indeed was a basin with water that smelled of chamomile and something spirituous. It was long ago that I had lost all my sense of shame in front of my lovers, so I undressed right where I was standing and allowed Valley's eyes to follow my every move with vivid interest. Yes, I was fifty five years old and had a rebellious knee, but overall, climbing, running and fighting Assassins had kept me in a good shape.

"I realized one thing while you were away," Valley suddenly started to speak again as I bent over the basin. "You're not a honey cake. You're an apple pie. And don't worry: I may hate apples, but I do love apple pie."

"I'm glad to hear that, I guess," I said shrugging, not sure whether I wanted to know the logic behind the comparison of me with desserts.

"Good." I heard her sigh, then there was movement on the bed. "Niccolò will have to wait until tomorrow. It makes him jealous, I'm afraid."

I glanced at her over my shoulder. "You like his writing?"

"Niccolò and I are in love!" she exclaimed. "An intelligent man seeing the ugly truth as it is and probably will always be. Many are indignant about 'The Prince', but it's only because they're blind idealists who can't distinguish between what the world should be like and what it actually _is_ like. To be honest, I wonder sometimes what he was like in bed."

I gave her another glance, this time a piercing one. "That man is dead, you know."

"And you prefer it stays this way, am I right?" Valley chirped. "You men are all the same. Although ... Well, I can't imagine you being the same as Werther. Have you read that book? Everybody's reading 'The Sorrows of Young Werther' nowadays and then commits suicide because of it. Believe it or not, I've read it completely, hoping till the very end that it would turn out to be good. But no. Just endless whining and sobbing. I wanted to shoot Werther right after the first few pages and it stayed that way. You can't imagine how relieved I felt when he finally shot himself. What a selfish asshole. He never realized he was torturing Lotte emotionally. He even called it 'love'. Men like him are the worst."

The third glance I gave her was a very long one. "How can you torture people by loving them?"

She snorted. "Easily, dear. Werther loved Lotte. Lotte seemed to like Werther. Maybe she returned his feelings or maybe she just liked him as a friend, but she clearly wanted to stay faithful to her fiancé and later husband. If he would have really loved her he wouldn't have ever returned after he left and he would have tried to start a new life instead. By his presence he made her see his suffering while she did not want him to suffer. It was not her fault that he suffered, but he _made_ it her fault. He eventually made his death her fault. He made her feel like a murderer. This is torture."

"I haven't read the book, but it doesn't sound like something written there," I tried to object.

She, however, looked rather unimpressed. "That's because the author doesn't know what a woman feels like in such a situation. Imagine there's someone in love with you. You like this person, but you can't give her what she wants. She suffers because of you. You haven't asked for this person's love. It's not your fault. And yet, it is." She paused, but before I could say anything she continued: "Then this suicide. Suicide is almost always a cry for attention. It's the most brutal form of shouting: 'Look at how cruel you are, how you're torturing me, look at how I'm suffering!' Oh, believe me, suicides _want_ to hurt. It's the sneakiest form of aggression. I know what I'm talking about, I've been close enough. There are always certain people a suicide wants to suffer just like he is suffering. And this is what people call 'love'. But believe me, there is no such thing in this world. 'Love' is just another word for aggression, hate and fear."

I turned to her completely. "Some generalizing conclusions drawn from one bitter experience?"

Valley straightened her back and remained calm. "Many experiences, and not only mine. People just can't love each other. They can be emotionally dependent and afraid to lose their beloved one, taking measures to bind the other person, be it by manipulation, bribery or threats. Or what do you think the phrase 'I can't live without you' is if not a threat? What do you think giving gifts or just showing care is if not bribery? What do you think giving each other the feeling of being save is? With everything lovers do they tell each other: 'See? This is how I care about you. If we don't stay together we can't be happy.' Which is a barefaced lie."

"But people _do_ feel unhappy when they lose a loved one," I said, crossing my arms.

"Because they believe their own lies," Valley shrugged innocently. "Take me, for example. I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to a handsome redcoat who pretended to love me, and I was just silly. I know it's hard to believe now, but I didn't like it the first time, and I didn't want to do it again. He tried to take me by force, so I drowned him in a cistern. He was too surprised to defend himself, I guess. Anyway, there was reason for me to feel bad because of having killed a man, even though no one ever found out, but, in the first place, I actually mourned over my lost love. And don't tell me about love making people irrational. I've been constantly lying to myself, because I couldn't bear the truth that there hadn't been any love between us, so it's no wonder I was irrational.

"When I was sixteen I was what they call 'very deeply in love'. Not my first love. I thought I knew what I was doing. The young man was very caring. When we were together he could always tell how I felt. He could read my mind. No matter what happened, he always found the right words to comfort me. I gave him all love I was capable of. I thought our love was ideal." She sighed, and it was just now that her expression darkened. "However, he often didn't keep his promises. He forgot things that were important to me. When something was wrong he never told me, claiming everything was fine, so I had to guess what was bothering him, because otherwise I couldn't help him and would have to suffer from his sour expression. Then he cheated on me. He was never able to tell me why. It was just ... I felt like we were close and yet there was an ocean of silence between us. One moment everything was fine, another moment everything was wrong. When I tried to talk to him about it he only said everything was fine. When I told him I was afraid he didn't love me anymore he took it as an insult. When I decided to end our relationship he begged me to stay. When I stayed he turned forgetful again. I thought I just didn't understand him. I thought I was doing something wrong. He told me I didn't do anything wrong. Then he disappeared from my life for three weeks. Then he turned up again and said he had forgotten to tell me he had to see someone in Philadelphia. I thought I had been worrying too much, but at the same time I wondered how anyone could forget something like that. As an honest person, I confronted him with my doubts. He was offended again. I felt bad. I thought my love wasn't worth much. I thought I was hurting him. I hated myself, and I hated him for making me feel this way. This is when I was close to suicide."

There followed a long silence during which I just stared at her, fighting the feeling that my brain was going to burst.

"I know his behaviour seems illogical," Valley continued, calm and rational again. "But it's very understandable if you know how some people react to feeling vulnerable. 'Loving' someone is emotional dependence, and dependence is vulnerability. He was afraid I would break up with him, so he was afraid to criticize me and sneakily took revenge for everything he didn't like about me, at the same time testing out my love and patience to make sure I loved him more than anything and would never abandon him. Yet by doing so he made me realize that I loved myself more than him. I'm not an angel who would endure anything. So I dumped him and asked some nice people to make sure he never comes close to the Black Horse Tavern again. I began to understand this whole story only last year when Anna and Grete told me about similar experiences."

"I have never seen people do such things," I said slowly and probably with eyes having the diameter of her cup.

She only shrugged. "Then you're just not looking properly. Are you finished yet?"

At first I didn't quite understand what she meant, but then I looked around and saw the basin. I nodded, towelled myself and then sat next to her on the bed. What a curious young woman she was. When facing the shadow side of life she built a castle. It was even in her name: Somewhen I had learned that "Walburga" means "ruler of a castle" in Old German. She was born to rule over her own stronghold, the Black Horse Tavern, her own world where everyone obeyed her command. Where she was safe from the "ugly truth", so she could watch it bluster and rampage from the inside, drinking hot chocolate and eating apple pie. Some people would call it art. And as for me ... I guess, making a troublemaker like me her royal favourite wasn't one of her best ideas.

I looked in her blue eyes so full of youthful confidence, smiled and wiped off the chocolate from her lip.

"Bad things happen," I said as my fingers slid down to her rosy porcelain neck. "If you say that these bad things are not love, then you have a very idealistic image of what love should be like. All your admiration for Machiavelli aside, you _are_ a romantic after all."

Valley's pretty mouth contorted itself to a sour smile and her cheeks reddened. "Shut up, you filthy Templar dog."

My mouth dropped open. It was a distant memory from my Assassin past, but yes, I had used the exact same insult once myself. And judging by the expression on Valley's face she had noticed these words had triggered something. There couldn't be any doubt that "Templar dog" was going to be my nickname from now on. - Valley, you little sadist!

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	3. The Kitten and the Dog

**Chapter 3: The Kitten and the Dog**

It was one month before Easter that the mysterious "Witcher" indirectly made his first appearance in my life. Two months would pass before I met him in person, and yet, connected with me by the bond of the Templar Order, he was my saviour that day.

That exceptionally sunny morning in the middle of March, when all the honourable people of New York went to the Sunday Mass, two sinners stayed in bed and disgraced God in every physically possible position. It was three months now that I had been "marked" as Valley's official lover which made me the "queen's" favourite toy, favourite pet, her bed warming pan and her co-regent. It was me who got the best pieces at dinner. Prices were lower for me, and sometimes Valley gave me food and services for free. The servants treated me with great respect, even though the girls kept a strict distance, especially when the boss, as they called Valley, was around.

These privileges were, of course, accompanied by obligations: Valley had made it clear that she expected me to spend every night in her bedroom, that my own room was only meant for storage and that certain parts of my body were "confiscated".

Yet whatever our affair looked like on the surface, it wasn't. I first realized it when other admirers, friends of the house, so to speak, started approaching me with pleas they didn't dare to approach Valley with in person. Asking for aid for their friends and relatives, for a private talk with Valley to get her advice in personal matters or just to give her an anonymous gift, often meant as a gesture of thanks. Their connection with the "queen" rooted deeply, and they seemed convinced that I had some influence on her. I embraced my role as the person at the regent's side, since it gave me direct insight in Valley's network, yet at the same time I started reflecting about us, realizing that this affair was different from everything I had before. I was indeed "marked".

This morning I felt it again as we finished our sacrilege and Valley curled up next to me, her face against my chest and not allowing me to change my pose. A bit like a wet, frozen kitten who just found another body to warm itself at. She even behaved like a kitten sometimes, literally scratching at my door when I wasn't coming to bed and brushing against me whenever our paths crossed. It was just the other side of the mountain lioness I had encountered on my first day here. Maybe there was a kitten living in every big cat out there, but Valley didn't seem to hide her own inner kitten at all.

I liked it. Probably this was even what I liked about her most. She wasn't able to hide any emotion - and she didn't even try to do so. Many people disliked her for that, especially those whom she had called "idiot", "liar" or another expression of honest opinion straight to the face. However, Valley didn't care, usually stating that a sincere enemy is better than a false friend. Even though her behaviour wasn't always socially unproblematic one can't deny that expressing one's desires directly, talking openly about past traumas and telling people what one really thinks of them requires a remarkable amount of courage.

My thoughts were disturbed as my fairy kitten suddenly changed her pose, cupping her chin in her hand.

"Shay ... How old are you exactly?"

I frowned, wondering what idea she would come up with this time.

"Fifty five."

"You don't look like fifty five."

I couldn't hold back a coaxed smile. "What do I look like then? Hundred?"

"Stop fishing for compliments, you filthy Templar dog," she smirked, giving me a light hit with her fist. Then her expression turned serious again: "You look like ... I don't know ... Forties? In any case, you look younger than my father, but he would be forty nine if he were still alive. And you look only slightly older than Heinrich."

"You mean your husband?" I grunted as soon as my brain managed to see the connection between "Heinrich" and "Henry".

"Yes," she nodded, completely ignoring my gloom. And after a pause she continued: "As an Assassin, I know about your deeds. But I know nothing about _you_. And you never tell anything."

"You never ask," I replied coldly.

She shrugged. "I thought you would tell me about yourself when you felt like it."

"There isn't much to tell, actually."

"Don't lie!" She gave me another hit. "Tell me how you lost your virginity! Where was it? How old were you then?"

Her face looked really excited, just like that of a child waiting for an unforgettable adventure story about mages and dragons. I forgave her mentioning her husband at once.

"When I say there isn't much to tell I mean it, Valley. I lost my virginity just like most sailors do." And since she didn't look convinced I was forced to continue: "It happened during my first time in La Rochelle. I was fifteen, and some older sailors took me with them for sightseeing. It was them who taught me all the basic rules."

"For example?"

Judging by her expression, she really wanted to know it. She really wanted to hear the most mundane story in the world.

"For example, to be careful around women without pubic hair," I sighed. "It may be an indicator that she is seeing a doctor because of a disease."

"I have pubic hair!" Valley cheered and sat up, proudly presenting the reddish-blond triangle under her cute, little belly.

"And this is one of the reasons why I'm still here," I nodded, patting her naked hip.

Valley smiled, leaning forward and lowering her voice. "And why else are you still here?"

"Now it's you who's fishing for compliments," I said, staring at her breasts swaying right in front of my eyes. The mountain lioness had awakened again.

"Aye, I do," she grinned, kissing my neck. "What's wrong with it?"

"You're such a hypocrite," I said with a forgiving sigh.

"I'm doing my best."

She continued kissing my neck, slowly moving to my chest, and I buried my hand in her mane. With my other arm I embraced her body, stroking it indecisively. There was this little problem with the mountain lioness. She was insatiable, and she could afford it to stay in bed for as long as she wanted. What would have sounded like the woman of my dreams some years ago in reality turned out to require hard work and an endless amount of stamina and ingenuity. And sometimes ... Sometimes I was just tired.

Just when I started cursing myself for not having any ideas for an elegant escape someone knocked the door.

Valley immediately stopped kissing me. _"Nicht mal am Sonntag hat man seine Ruhe!"_ she hissed in German, then turned her face to the door, grunting: "What is it?"

"I-I'm sorry, but here's someone wishing to see Master Cormac!" the voice of the waitress Grete said.

The stare Valley gave me was colder than Arctic water.

"I didn't expect any visitors," I shrugged, sitting up and ready to go.

Yet before I could burst into freedom Valley firmly pushed me back on my pillow and looked angrily at the door as she commanded: "Let him come in!"

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes, dammit," Valley snorted with her hand still on my chest.

The door opened, revealing the blushing Grete and a thirteen-year-old boy: Jim, Lamb's apprentice. Seeing Valley and me naked in bed with her not even being covered by a blanket he blushed as well.

"I - uhm ... I have a message from Master Lamb," he stuttered. "He - uhm - would like you to dine with him today."

"I'll be there. Thank you, Jim," I said, shoving Valley's hand from my chest as the door was closed again.

"You're expected for dinner and not breakfast," she protested when I stood up and collected my shirt.

"There are a few other things I need to get done," I lied, looking for my trousers.

"Some dirty Templar business, so you have something to report to your beloved general?"

I turned to her. She knew who my contact was. She had known it even before I arrived in New York. Lamb's affiliation with the Templar Order hadn't been a secret ever since he had sent the first spy after Valley, and yet the Assassins still hadn't killed him. I did wonder, actually, why she didn't bother about my regular visits to the general and thus made all secrecy needless. By now I knew that nobody followed me when I left for my reports, and it had become a habit that Lamb would send Jim over when he needed a message delivered. Didn't the Assassins take us seriously at all?

This was a serious issue, of course, but for the moment I had another problem: My trousers tenaciously refused to be found. Which was strange, considering that I definitely had left them neatly folded on a chair. So there was only one solution to this riddle ... and I couldn't believe I actually used my "other" eyes to locate my trousers under Valley's big pillow.

"Would you mind returning me my clothes?" I sighed.

Valley gave me another cold look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I rolled my eyes, stepped to the bed and pulled my trousers out from their hiding place. As I put them on Valley demonstratively turned her back on me. Sure her beautiful morning was ruined, but after three months by her side I knew she wouldn't pout for long. She really was just like a child. Easily insulted, but also very forgiving. She didn't even have a grudge against all the people - most of them women - who publicly called her a slut.

For a few moments my gaze rested on her beautifully shaped back, the elegant curve of her spine, the golden locks resting on her shoulders, and it almost broke my heart to leave her in such disappointment.

"You know, they usually have cookies on Sundays," I said, bending down and kissing her shoulder. "Lamb's cook has a very special, secret recipe. I'll bring you some."

I couldn't suppress a victorious smirk as she granted me a hissed absolution: "Damn you, Shay Cormac!"

* * *

The assumption that the Assassins didn't take us seriously was, of course, naive. More likely they were just very confident about their information network which in fact wasn't even half as complex as it looked from the outside. The Templar archive currently listed only eight Assassins who applied themselves to traditional Assassin activities. The others took care of gathering information and securing the Assassin influence in state affairs, and they weren't many either: In New York, for example, there were only two, namely Valley and a guard officer called John Smith who had been promoted suspiciously fast in the recent years. Everyone else involved in the Assassin network were just personal acquaintances of these two and a few other Assassins, and they had no idea that they were part of an ancient war between two secret orders.

After three months of talking to the guests of the tavern, tracking them and the people they interacted with and being approached with pleas I had a very clear idea of how the network functioned: Most people Valley interacted with were in her personal debt or just afraid she might reveal secrets they had entrusted her during a boozing. There were people involved in crimes, people who had been in trouble and saved, people whom she had helped to find employment or escape abuse, people whom she had helped to fulfill their dreams, people whom she had saved from false accusation, men whom she had helped to make peace with their wives, women whom she had helped with divorce and some corrupt government officials whose secrets she knew very well and whose existence she could crush at any moment.

Many people liked her, even more people hated her. This young girl had actual power in this city which made her very attractive to some and threatening to others. Because of one single drunk eyewitness she was able to influence the jurisdiction of New York when she needed it. She had an eye on all the trade, many ship captains frequenting New York were her friends and helped with national and international correspondence. When someone from very high above once hired a killer for her she was warned by trusted allies, and then the responsible one was removed by a decree from even higher above. Be it through love or fear, most of her unknowing agents and allies were devoted to her and ensured her influence, so "queen" seemed like a rightful title for her.

However, what was worst for me was that she didn't store any paper. She immediately burned all the letters she received except for those concerning personal matters and the tavern, and she never let drafts lie around, burning them as well. I searched the tavern many times during her absence, but I was never able to find any documents or notes of interest. "Give up searching my tavern, handsome," she once said to me. "You won't find anything, because it's all up here." By tipping at her forehead she made it clear that all the information that came to her - names, stories, addresses, dates - were stored exclusively in her memory. Sometimes she would put it on paper to pass it on, but I knew for sure she didn't do it in the tavern and often not even herself: Someone told me that one day he was asked to remember a mysterious message he didn't quite understand, write it down in a quiet place and give the letter to a certain person in a certain place at a certain time. When I directly asked her why she made such precautions in a country that was under Assassin influence anyway she just shrugged and said it was fun. With a memory like this and so many ideas for ensuring secure information exchange she couldn't be called anything less than a genius.

And yet, the ingenious information network had one crucial weakness that resulted directly from the source of its safety, since most people involved didn't know what they were doing. I told General Lamb that it shouldn't be difficult to fool some of them into cooperation by making them believe they were just doing Valley another favour. I gave him names and meeting places, hoping his agents would do a good job.

* * *

The general never told me anything about the activities of the Order, just as I had asked, but this time things were different: As I entered this study after a very long walk I saw him sitting at his desk with a letter that had the seal of the Russian Rite on it. Realizing he was about to involve me in something big I opened my mouth to protest even before greeting him.

"Please don't misunderstand, Master Cormac," the general cut me short. "The American Rite is just asked to help out with a matter the Assassins know about anyway."

I frowned. "And that is?"

Lamb turned his eyes back at the letter. "Russia has been going through a series of dynastical fights and overthrows over the course of this century, and Empress Catherine basically isn't the rightful ruler. It's her son Paul who should be sitting on the throne, but she hates him and keeps him away from rulership. She'd rather see his son, her grandchild Alexander, ascend the throne after her. And this matter becomes more and more urgent, since the empress is, to speak bluntly, an old lady by now. The Russian Rite is worried about the country's stability and well-being if father and son become enemies. There's no doubt the Assassins would use this instability to throw the nation into chaos, making the people suffer even more than they already do. Russia has reached a crossroads where is has to choose between Paul, an admirer of Frederick the Great, and the rather liberal Alexander who was raised by his grandmother. Grand Master Arakcheev is very close to Paul, yet considering the change of wind ... Our Revolutionary War won with Assassin aid and the revolution that is being prepared in France now ... Arakcheev has sent out his best student for research in order to decide which heir the Templar Order should support."

To be honest, I still didn't quite understand ...

"He's going to do research on what?"

Lamb looked up as he answered with only one word: "People."

"People?"

The general nodded. "This student, Count Aleksandr Gravrilovich Luchezarsky, is highly valued for his observation skills. A highly developed Eagle Sense, as Arakcheev states. Apparently Luchezarsky is able to tell a person's physical and emotional state just by looking at them ... To read minds, basically. Furthermore, he has spent years doing research on the Precursors and the Pieces of Eden. Using his mind-reading skills, he has managed to manipulate several Assassins sent to kill him into suicide. With his talent and knowledge he's able to look right through people, and he's eager to find out how exactly revolutions work. This research was actually his idea."

I continued staring at Lamb, wondering whether I was the only one who thought this whole story was a bit too fantastical. After all, I had the Eagle Sense myself and I knew a few other people with this talent, and despite some individual differences I had never met anyone with _this_ kind of it. ... Not to mention the research purpose which sounded very ... strange. Yet on the other hand, Luchezarsky and Arakcheev weren't the first people trying to understand the needs of their own country by observing others.

"What do our Russian brothers ask us to do?" I finally said, putting my scepticism aside for the time being.

"Not much. Just to find Count Luchezarsky a fine mansion to live in and to help covering the trail if anything happens."

"You said the Assassins know about this mission."

"Yes. Their spies found out about these plans long ago, yet they don't seem to have any intentions to stop it. They may say that they perfectly know what's best for Russia, but judging by their actions, the Grand Master believes they want to know the outcome of Luchezarsky's research as well."

I had to admit it made sense. After everything that had happened in Russia in the first half of this century neither of the two orders could be certain about its agenda.

"And it's me who's supposed to find the mansion?" I spoke again, trying to understand why the most experienced Assassin hunter in the order received such a trivial task.

"I'm an official, so it would cause unnecessary attention if I did it," Lamb shrugged. "And it's only us in all of New York. Connor has seen to it."

I wasn't left another choice but to sigh. "I'll do it."

"Please lay your discontent aside, Master Cormac," Lamb smiled. "It's an honour, since Luchezarsky is a very important guest, and he's eager to meet you. He's travelled all of Europe, much like you, so maybe you've heard of him? He's often referred to as 'the Witcher'."

The last word made me sit up. Could it be that ... at least some things about Luchezarsky's Eagle Sense were true?

"The French Rite keeps an eye on a bastard girl who is said to be the child of someone called _Le Sorceleur_ \- 'the Witcher'," I said. "She knew I had pain in my right knee the moment we first met."

Lamb nodded. "It sounds very much like Luchezarsky ... Arakcheev actually asks us to ... watch over his interaction with women. He loves them, they love him and he is said to have bastards all over Europe. Arakcheev is ... a bit worried about his student."

I only raised a brow. "What is there to worry about?"

For some reason Lamb rolled his eyes: "I'm sorry for my honesty, but judging by what I was told about you, Master Cormac, you and Luchezarsky are soulmates."

* * *

I knew it was meant to be a joke, but as I walked back to the tavern I couldn't help but think about how wrong Lamb was. Wrong about me and women. Wrong about Janet. About Lizzy. About Hope. - Wrong about all the women I had loved.

No. It's true I'd always been able to find pleasant company. Pleasant, fun and nothing more. For my relationships with women who actually robbed me of my sleep were never easy.

Janet ... hated me. Lizzy, the first girl who caught my interest after I had recovered from the loss of Janet ... She never noticed me. - And why on earth should a noble English girl remember a dirty, sweaty and unshaven Irish sailor who had caught her hat as the wind blew it off her pretty blond head? For these clean, noble misses we dirty and tired sailors looked just all the same. ... And then there was Hope. The most complicated case of all. And the most tragic one. After I killed her with my own hands I began avoiding women who caught my special interest. I had learned it the hard way: Someone like me - a rogue, a killer, a hunter - couldn't make anyone happy. I had to live in the shadows, fulfilling my duty and always alert. This is how I had made my luck for decades.

Sometimes - no, often - I had doubts about my intimate relationship with Valley being a good idea. In fact, I was pretty sure it was a bad one. And yet, I couldn't refuse the kitten scratching at my door every night.

* * *

Suddenly a very familiar feeling crept up my spine, warning me about Assassin presence. It didn't happen often here in New York. Valley had even told me directly that I was under her "protection". That she had convinced Connor and the others that there was no point in hunting me down. I still didn't understand how she had managed to persuade the others, but ... I'd had this little suspicion for a while now: The suspicion that the Assassins weren't only very confident about their information network, but that they were so confident about it because of something they were sure I wouldn't find out. They were confident about something that required my presence and interaction with Lamb. And this was why I had warned the general about a possible traitor among his men last week.

It felt a bit weird not to watch out for Assassins hiding in haystacks at my Eagle Sense's warning, knowing that right now it only meant the presence of a certain fairy who had some Assassin business in mind. No life danger for me. - And I hoped I wouldn't get used to it, since otherwise it would be my death one day.

Nevertheless, I still followed the lead of my Sense. I had to find out which kind of Assassin business Valley was up to. Or rather: had been up to, for the feeling in my spine was rather calm, as if the worst was already over. I had to check if she indeed knew everything Luchezarsky's arrival.

I knew she was near as I overheard a couple talking.

"Look, there she is, walking just like that in broad daylight!" the woman wrinkled her nose.

"Aye, and with such an innocent face as if she weren't the main whore of New York," her husband agreed.

I couldn't help but stop, glaring at the two of them.

"What are you looking at?" the man grunted.

I drew myself up to my full height. "She turned you down, didn't she?"

The colour change in the man's face proved I was right. Valley was indeed many things, but not a whore. She was actually very picky. And the men she rejected often ended up speaking poorly of her.

A quick glance at the man's wife told me there would be a rather unpleasant discussion later.

"Keep talking ..." the poor, cornered man hissed. "One day ... One day she'll dump you just like all the others."

Did he think I was stupid? I laughed in his face.

"What kind of relationship do you think we have?"

Then I turned and followed the street, reducing the distance between me and Valley. The timing of walking away had been good, for if I would have stayed for a little longer the two detractors would have seen my face turn sour. Because, in a way, that man was right. I knew, of course, that my relationship with Valley was but an affair, maybe even a way to fulfill my mission. However, the idea that one day the kitten would scratch at somebody else's door didn't feel particularly pleasant.

"Why the long face?" Valley cheerfully chirped in my ear as she noticed me from the corner of her eye and let me catch up with her.

There was always a very specific sparkling in her eyes when she had been up to something for her Brotherhood. It proved again and again what a bad actress and liar she was. And yes, she certainly knew about Luchezarsky. At the same time, the increased sparkling told me she knew that I knew she knew. It wasn't the first time we understood each other without words.

"You know today's New York better than me," I sighed. "Do you know a mansion that can be rented?"

"Aye," she smiled, and after a short pause she added: "So that's what depresses you? That one of the best men of the Order is given such an ignoble task?"

I didn't answer, but Valley's readiness to help lightened my mood up a bit. Since Lamb had explicitly said that the Assassins knew everything anyway and that Luchezarsky was simply going to do a research on people, I didn't have any scruples joining forces with an Assassin. Maybe Master Kenway and the others would have hated me for that, but, with all due respect, they were long dead. And I made my own luck.

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	4. Voltaires and Machiavellis

**Chapter 4: Voltaires and Machiavellis**

The city cast its shadow on the water as the sun set behind our backs. Walburga, a twenty-one-year-old lady by now, had wrapped her hands around my right arm and leaned against my shoulder as we sat on the edge of the docks, pausing our walk on this warm April evening. She had placed her blue hat next to her, allowing the wind to play with her golden locks and to blow them in her sweet face. Once again I caught myself admiring her youth and the delicate features of a porcelain figure. How could a living being be so beautiful? And how could it be that this beautiful living being was leaning against me, liked me and desired my presence? After all, what was I? A fifty-five-year-old man who, yes, was in better shape than most of his peers, but who still was at the mercy of time, having old skin and a face full of wrinkles, completely colourless, grey hair and a knee that turned against him at the mere sight of a staircase. I knew I had to be grateful for still having the ability to climb the roofs much faster than most young people and for being unmolested by baldness, but time went on and I wasn't getting younger.

Valley and I got looks whenever we went out together. Not only because of Valley's reputation, but also ... We looked just ridiculous when going side by side. Couples with an age difference of twenty years usually look ridiculous even in circles where such major age differences are common. And our age difference was thirty five. I was several years older than her father. And there were many handsome, young men fighting for her attention. With her looks she could have anyone, yet for some peculiar reason she preferred an old sailor with a scar across his face.

It wasn't like I was complaining. Every man my age feels flattered when a young girl takes a liking to him, but ... I couldn't stop my thoughts from reminding me of reality. Of Valley's habits, of the way she looked at other men, of her age, of her husband ...

"You're so quiet," Valley suddenly interrupted my dark thoughts.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

Instead of accepting my answer Valley laid her hand on my cheek and forcefully turned my face at her.

"Liar."

I sighed. Something was telling me she wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't give her an answer she would be satisfied with.

"I was just wondering ... You rarely speak of your parents and your husband."

A surprised expression spread on her face. "What is there to talk about? My mother died at childbirth, my father brought me up alone and married me to his friend. But you know that already."

I frowned. "It surprises me a little that you don't seem to have ... I don't know ... special memories. I, for instance, remember the moment my father gave me a little wooden ship he made during a passage to New Orleans. He always brought me a gift when he came back, but I remember that ship in particular. This was the moment when I decided to become a sailor as well. Weren't you and your father close?"

"I don't know," she said. "We did like each other ... We were family, after all, but ... I don't believe in love between parents and children."

I frowned again. "How so?"

"Well, it's logical, isn't it?" she shrugged. "A child doesn't choose its parents. It just accepts the ones it has, because otherwise it wouldn't be able to survive. It doesn't have another choice than to love its parents which basically isn't really love but a plain survival tactic. And as for parents ... Well, I've never seen parents who accept their children as who they are. They have wishes for their children and they force their morals and ideals onto them. They call it education. They try to shape them. - That is, if they even care and don't leave their children to somebody else. Yet in any case, every parent has expectations. And expectations are denial of the child's personality."

I already knew about Valley's deromanticized worldview, yet I still reacted with surprise at her rather daring theories.

"What exactly happened between you and your father?"

She shrugged again. "Nothing. And that's the point. We were family and he loved his daughter. But he never knew Valley, and so he didn't love _me_." I nodded, encouraging her to continue. "All he could see was his sweet, little girl whom he wanted to see in good hands. He didn't know what I liked and what I disliked. He was never able to remember that I hate apples. He didn't believe me when I told him that the medicine I brought him as he was lying sick during the revolution was stolen from the redcoats. He never noticed how I treated and was treated by our customers as I grew older. And when I told him that I was by no means a virgin anymore before my marriage with Heinrich he thought I was joking. Whenever I revealed him something about myself he didn't take me seriously. He refused to see me as who I was. And so ... I was alone from the very beginning of my life."

When saying the last sentence she grabbed a stone from the ground and threw it into the water. And before I could comment on her story she went on:

"Heinrich is just the same. Too busy with his business. All he sees in me is a little girl he was asked to take care for. No wonder, considering that I used to call him 'uncle' when I was little." She threw another stone. "But I'm not complaining. He allows me to do what I want, he gives me the status of a married woman and he's never there. He's actually a perfect husband."

A third stone, and then she was silent. I kept looking at the grumbling kitten, sad and yet still sweet. And sincerely believing that the world could be explained with plain, cold logic. Young people always believe they know everything and then suffer from their own "wisdom".

"Valley," I said firmly. "That your father didn't see you as you wanted to be seen doesn't mean he didn't love you. His sweet, little daughter is what you were and still are. If you don't accept that you actually refuse to accept a part of yourself."

She rolled her eyes. "And where does this age-old wisdom come from?"

I gave her a serious look. "From accepting myself as a traitor who never acted against his conscience. There is no right or wrong in this world. And so there isn't true or false love. There may be different kinds of love, but every love is true."

Valley shook her head. "I think it's too simple."

"Why complicate things without need?"

"Because the world _is_ complicated."

"Which is why we shouldn't make it even more complicated."

"I don't make it even more complicated!" she grunted and stood up. "I just see it as it is!"

I sighed, standing up as well. "Do you know what I don't like about all these Machiavellis, Voltaires and so on? They've produced many words, but they haven't made anyone happy."

* * *

Maybe I should have just listened to myself and stopped complicating things with unnecessary thoughts and fears. But they were there, they were all over my body, they reminded me of their presence every time I looked in the mirror. Just like Valley, I tortured myself with "truths" about "reality", trying to escape them and wallowing in them at the same time.

I turned my eyes away from my wrinkled reflection, put on my nightgown and walked over to the bed where Valley was waiting.

"Why did you put that thing on?" she asked with a sourish expression which turned into a diabolic smile the next moment: "There's no reason to be shy, you delicious apple pie."

I couldn't suppress a flattered smirk, but my thoughts quickly returned to my wrinkles. My wrinkles and my fatigue. It had been another day of spying and eavesdropping without finding out anything new and useful, another visit to Lamb's without actually visiting Lamb but just picking up the weekly portion of cookies Lamb's cook now made especially for Valley who had acknowledged them as ingenious, and, last but not least, it had been another day of tiring, dark thoughts. So, to be honest, I had every right to just lie down and sleep. Especially considering that Valley already had had the obligatory piece of her delicious apple pie in the morning.

"What is it, Shay?" she moaned as I slipped under the blanket and took up my sleeping pose. "Are you angry because of earlier? I thought you know I never intend to be mean, so if I said something -"

"It's nothing," I sighed, closing my eyes, yet knowing that with my thoughts I wouldn't be able to sleep for the next couple of hours, no matter how hard I tried.

The silence that followed my answer was suspicious. Then -

"I'm worried, Shay."

I sighed again. "Everything is fine."

"No, it's not!"

Her sudden sobbing made me sit up and turn to her.

"You're lying to me, Shay," she said with tears in her eyes, but firmly. "And earlier you weren't 'just thinking'. You've lied to me twice today. Twice. I told you I'm not an angel who would endure anything, didn't I? So get out of here!"

I stared at her, desperately trying to grasp what just happened. Was she angry because I didn't want to share my private thoughts with her? Was she chucking me out because of that? Seriously?

She was chucking me out because I claimed my natural right to keep my thoughts to myself?

I was even too perplexed to get angry or to realize that we were having our first and maybe last fight. I just stood up, collected my things and went into my room without saying a word.

* * *

The following day was a rather weird one. A sleepless night was followed by curses about how controlling women could be and that I didn't need such a crazy cow at my side. The next stage was a long assessment of the men I watched Valley interacting with: handsome - but dumb, smart - but boring, another dumb one, one who looked like a girl, a _very_ boring one, one who was too fat, one who was too thin, too old, too young, and she laughed and joked with all those retards, completely ignoring my existence. I went on grumbling about this world of female ungulates and male nitwits till the evening when I realized that my cow stayed in the company of one particular nitwit: the worst of all nitwits, to be precise, a very young one with pimples all over his face, most likely a nescient virgin whose only strength was the mere quantity of cum he could produce per night.

"Are you sure you want another one?"

I looked up at Amadeus, the only man in Valley's tavern crew. It was one thing when Lisa, Grete or Anna criticized my drinking, but Amadeus ... Was there no male solidarity in this world?!

"I'm sure of it," I replied firmly.

He gave me a cool look, making me remember his duty to see trouble-seeking drunkards outside. It was no secret that he hated beer, rum, whisky and everything else of that sort. According to what I had been told by regular guests of the tavern he had broken with his rich family and Valley had used her resources to help him against his stepfather's attempts to bring him back. There was some dark secret, and he never mentioned anybody from his family. For most of the time, he just wanted to be left alone and do his work. Which included serving drinks. Yet what looked like a contradiction at first glance actually made sense: Whatever had been done to him in the past, now he oversaw the drinking and, always staying sober himself, he was much stronger than the drunkards. Probably a power he never had when he was younger.

I sighed and, realizing that I wouldn't get sympathy and understanding here, I went outside. It was already dark, the streets seemed relatively empty and ... Well ... It was funny, because I didn't think I had drunk much, but I felt like it wasn't me walking. The streets were moving by themselves, taking me into an unknown direction, leading me by the hand like a little boy, taking me ... Taking me somewhere ... Some street ... Some alley ... Some -

"Shay? Shay Cormac?!"

Right in front of me was a dark ball. A dark ball on two legs, and it was talking to me.

"Oh my goodness, it's really you! You always have _this_ walk after a few beers!" the ball exclaimed, grabbing my right hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "Brian O'Neill, remember? We used to be neighbours!"

I squinted at the ball, slowly remembering those eyes and eyebrows, then the nose and the mouth. The shape of the face, however, had gotten rounder over the decades.

"I've heard rumours about your return! Didn't know you're such a celebrity!" No ... No, this wasn't really happening. That unbearably boring idiot called Brian O'Neill whom my aunt had used to compare me to pressed all this body mass against me in a hug. "They say your ship is legendary! A fairy of the sea with red sails! The Morrigan, right? And - and they say you've been the lover of the 'queen' for several months now! How did you do it? She usually changes her lovers every few weeks!"

I glared at him.

"Oh, please don't misunderstand me! I never vied for her attention! I'm a married man, you see."

I decided not to explain to him why being married wasn't an obstacle at all, and instead wondered why I found myself sitting in a tavern with a stein in my hand. Where was the alley I had been in just a moment ago?!

"You've no idea how much I envy you for your freedom!" Brian babbled on while I examined his bald head that sat on this body just like smaller ball. "I mean, look at yourself! You're - how old? About fifty five, if I recall correctly. But you -" He looked a bit like the snowmen Liam and I used to build so many years ago. "You look so young! No wonder you still attract young girls! And I'm sure a man like you has quite a story to tell. A story full of freedom and adventure, a life that _means_ something ... You've always had these tendencies. Disobedience and such. Making your own luck. Going for what you want. Going for what you consider right. We all envied you. You were the one who did all the things we _wanted_ to but never _could_ do. And now look at us! Look at _me_! Me having six hungry mouths to feed, a wife who nags at me every day ... I don't even know what's worse: all the work or coming home. So, you see how I'm trying to escape my life. My damn, meaningless life ..."

For the first time this evening I really looked at him, this pitiful man with sagging shoulders, too tired to carry all the weight resting on him. And yet ... He had no idea. An unbearably boring idiot he had been, and an unbearably boring idiot he remained.

I stood up, emptied my stein, and while the world was still deciding where to take me next I grunted: "You've a place in this damn world. You've people who care about you, to whom you mean something. You're not just empty space or a toy that can be thrown away. You're the lucky one, you bloody moron."

* * *

I was never able to remember Brian's reaction to my words. Actually, I wasn't even able to remember what else happened that evening. There were just a few flashes of memory with me looking for a spot to release my beer back into freedom, getting some rum and whisky, some fists, punching someone ... The headache wouldn't let me remember more. And what was worst: It wasn't until I threw up on the floor that I realised I wasn't alone in my room.

" _Lisa, er hat's wieder gemacht!_ " a male voice shouted, causing my headache to explode.

As I struggled to suppress a moan a pair of female feet pattered in. With a rustle of cloth Lisa kneeled down and started wiping away my vomit. If I would have been able to produce any sound that wasn't sick moaning I would have cursed. Or apologized. Or said I'd do it myself later.

"Welcome back to the real world, Master Cormac," Amadeus said, bending down to me. "You won't fall asleep again, I hope? Just in case you don't remember: You've vomited for the third time now. And you need a bath and fresh clothes, actually."

Knowing that I probably looked just like I felt, I accepted his contemptuous tone as something I deserved and tried to sit up, ignoring my head's increased rebellion.

"Why am I here?" I finally managed to mumble.

"Because you're to be prepared for your _execution_ ," Amadeus replied coolly.

I felt like my look was all sober for a moment. "My _what_?"

"Your execution," Amadeus repeated patiently. "This is what the boss said: 'When he's sober again I'll kill him.'"

"Aye, she really said that," Lisa giggled while I was still staring at Amadeus.

"She's really mad, and she still suffers terrible pain," he added.

This ... was just ... I shook my head, suppressed another moan as the pain increased again and then just covered my face with my hands.

"What exactly happened?"

"You disappeared, she was worried, she left and then she returned with you hanging from her shoulders."

Another sober look. "She _carried_ me?"

Amadeus nodded. "Now you know where her pain comes from."

Suddenly my headache seemed an embarrassingly trivial matter. Yes, Valley was very strong physically; everyone knew that, especially all those men she had killed with almost bare hands. But drowning a man in a cistern or piercing his head with a branch couldn't be compared to carrying a man through half of the city while barely reaching his shoulder in height.

"How bad are her injuries?" I asked.

"She says it's just cramps in her neck, back, arms and shoulders," Amadeus said, and I didn't know whether it was just my imagination, but some of the contempt in his expression seemed to vanish.

I stared at the opposite wall, unable to stop thinking about Valley's pain.

"I need to talk to her."

Yet before I could stand up Amadeus pushed me back on my bed and said: "We don't want you to vomit at her feet, Master Cormac. First do yourself and everyone else the favour to recover and turn back into a proper human. Moreover, I believe the boss would enjoy killing you more when she feels better as well."

* * *

Why had all that happened again? Because I had fears. Because I had refused to talk to Valley who was ... Who was worried, actually, who had noticed my strange behaviour and now was simply worried, especially after I had refused to tell her the truth, probably correctly concluding that it had something to do with her. I had transferred my own fears on to her. Just like - yes, just like that man she had told me about. That asshole who had almost driven her into suicide by not talking about fears and problems that concerned their relationship. By making her feel guilty for something that wasn't her fault.

"I'm not an angel who would endure anything," her words resounded in my head - the simple explanation for her chucking me out so promptly. She had gone through a similar story, and she didn't want to repeat an old mistake.

Perhaps she was right and I indeed was but an old mistake. Perhaps ... No. No, she was completely right. I wasn't supposed to be with her. Yet if speaking honestly - "She usually changes her lovers every few weeks!" The kitten scratching at my door. The young girl carrying a man much taller and heavier than her. ... Apparently the fairy had forgotten about the conditions she had imposed on me.

What was left of my sickness suddenly turned into a warm cloud floating inside my belly and growing bigger, fluffier and warmer. Was I smiling? - Yes, I actually was. I was even grinning! Some shy, flattered grin of a blushing boy.

I knew it was bad. Very bad. But could I do anything else than jump up and run into her office in that situation? It was evening by now and I felt much better. With my realization even my knee seemed to be healed!

"How are Voltaire and Machiavelli doing?" I asked, knocking at the open door.

Walburga sat at her desk, producing angry noises on her abacus. As I entered she looked up and gave me a chill with those dark circles around her eyes.

"They're still angry because of what you said about them," she replied with a dull voice. "How are we supposed to figure out how to make humanity happy if we don't study it?"

"So you want to study every little bit?"

"Even the most teeny-tiny bit," she nodded with a remarkable amount of decisiveness in her weary eyes.

"Then you want to study what's bothering me as well?"

"Since you don't seem to have noticed: Yes, I do."

I bit my lip. Now I had reached that point when there was no turning back. No. Turning. Back.

"I'm not twenty anymore, Valley."

She only raised her brows. "And so what?"

"I can't keep up."

"With whom?"

"With you, dammit!" I paused and tried to calm down a little before I continued: "With your energy. With your desires. With your youth. I'm fifty five years old, Valley. Fifty five. I get tired. I lose strength."

Valley's eyes seemed to examine every bit of my face. "And so what? I know your age. What is your problem? If it's getting too much for you, you should have said so. I'm human too, you know, and if you would've said you can't or don't want to I would've accepted that."

I only shook my head, trying to ignore the pain in my chest.

"What I'm trying to say is: You'd be better off with a younger lover."

For some reason I didn't like the way how she slowly stood up.

" _What?_ "

"You'd be better off with a younger lover, and I'm sorry for having been a bother."

She stared at me. I don't know for how long.

"You're pretty stupid for a Master Templar, you know that?" she finally said with a husky voice as her hand slowly moved towards the inkpot. "Who do you think I am? I choose my lovers myself, you moron. Myself - is that clear?"

I shook my head again. "Valley, just think -"

"Shut the fuck up, you bloody bastard!"

I ducked not a moment too soon, as the inkpot clashed against the door and exploded into countless shards and ink drops.

"You're ruining my life!" Valley shouted as she grabbed the tavern's accounting journal and dashed it at me. "I hate you!"

Having dodged the journal, I turned and ran. I ran from my furious executioner, I ran from the punishment I deserved and I ran towards the realization that there was no escape. For some reason Valley had chosen me, she chased me through the whole tavern, sweeping all the crockery from the tables with her kitchen towel, a lethal weapon obviously, and she battered me with a powerful mixture of German and English curses.

"Let me in, _du debiles Pflaumenhirn_!" she yelled, throwing herself against the door I desperately tried to keep closed. "I'll kill you! _Den Hals umdrehen werd' ich dir!_ " I could literally hear the door moan with pain. "Bastard! _Bestie! Verdammter Köter!_ I'll kill you! Idiot!"

With a swift step to the side I let go of the door and allowed Valley to fly in. I caught her before she would hit the floor and pushed both of her arms behind her back.

"I'm just trying to survive, you see," I said, finally having the time to look around and realize that we were in her bedroom.

Valley growled and snarled as she tried to free herself with all her might. "Fuck you, Shay Cormac!"

"You know what?" I whispered, drawing her closer to me. "Right now I wouldn't mind ..."

"I hate you! ..."

* * *

What a curious world it was! There she was lying with her porcelain cheeks still glowing with peaceful happiness after destroying half of the tableware in the tavern. There was me lying next to her and stroking her beautiful golden hair. No, this world didn't need Voltaires and Machiavellis. It didn't need to be understood. Trying to understand magic was plain stupid.

All it needed was to be accepted.

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	5. A Rather Extravagant Party

**Chapter 5: A Rather Extravagant Party**

Even though he was just a count, Aleksandr Gavrilovich Luchezarsky turned out to be the most blue-blooded blue blood I had ever met, as he possessed the ability to turn all people into beggars just by stepping on the street they walked. He was a twenty-eight-year-old man with a miraculously symmetric face, almost unnaturally fair skin and the built of an Apollo statue. His blond hair and white suit with all its silver and golden embroidery were shining in the May sun, completing the image of a god or an angel who had decided to bless us mortals with his august presence. And I seriously doubted this effect was actually intended, since I felt honesty about his every movement, no matter how superhumanly majestic it was. Walking this earth like a visitor from heaven seemed to be the most natural thing to him.

He gave me a warm smile as he walked over the plank and shook my hand.

"It is an honour to meet you, Master Cormac," he said with a calm, velvet voice and a French accent. "After all the great things I have been told I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance."

Gazing into his eyes shining with the colour of the Caribbean Sea I slowly started to believe that he actually might have those curious talents Lamb had been talking about. He was walking perfection after all.

"I'm not the right man for elegant words, but the honour is all mine," I tried to answer politely, yet unable get rid of the feeling that I was just some dirty rogue next to him.

He gave me another smile. "I'm sorry my arrival has caused you work so far below your rank. As for my Eagle Sense and my mission - I'm sure all your doubts will be gone very soon."

I made just one single blink. Was he ... No, he probably just ...

" _Oui_ , it's obvious just by looking at your situation."

I blinked again. Did he ...

"Yet I believe there will be more time to discuss my Sense later," he said, turned around and gave a hand to a girl following him from the ship. As he looked at me again something about his expression changed: "Oh, I see, _mon cher ami_. You and Paulette already know each other."

Yes, indeed. It was Paulette, the bastard girl from Paris who could see the pain in my knee. The daughter of _Le Sorceleur_ and a dancer.

 _"Je suis heureux de vous revoir, Monsieur Cormac,"_ she said, dropping a curtsey.

I nodded, scraping together my French and formulating a reply: _"Je suis heureux aussi. Vous avez grandi, Paulette."_

She smiled, and while I was still recovering from the French through-the-nose-speaking Luchezarsky shoved a sixteen-year-old boy in front of me.

"This is my protégé Kazimierz Gołąbiecki," Luchezarsky explained. "His mother is the most beautiful woman in Warsaw. Sadly, she's not very affluent, so I promised to show her son the world in order to improve his education."

I shook the boy's hand, knowing that I'd never be able to pronounce his name and wishing I could just hear something in French again.

Happy that all the obligatory pleasantries had been exchanged, I showed our guests the carriages waiting for them. Then Luchezarsky turned to a less well-dressed group carrying the bags, made gestures and said some words in Russian - with a French accent that was impossible not to notice even for someone who didn't understand a word. Luckily I had stumbled over some Russian sailors and travellers earlier in my life and already knew that French actually was the native language of the Russian nobility. Soon it would be hundred years since tsar Peter I. had turned Russia into an empire and forced the nobility to abandon their cultural heritage. And I couldn't help wondering about the situation of Assassins and Templars in this country where the nobility lived in a completely different world than the people.

"You're right, it's tragic," Luchezarsky's voice suddenly sounded right next to me, making me realize we were watching the two carriages leave without us. Had I really been so deep in thought?

"I hate not being able to talk to my own people without sounding like a foreigner," the count continued. "But at least I do realize the difference between us and the people. Most Assassins and Templars don't."

I gave him a surprised look.

"I understand you're wondering why there aren't many Assassins of lower descent in Russia," he replied before I could even ask. "Uneducated serfs aren't likely be become rebels, _mon cher ami_. I've spent several years living among them. Working with them. Being considered insane by my own helots. I know their beliefs are the exact opposite of the Assassin ideals. The abolition of serfdom in Russia is a necessity, yes, even most Templars agree on that, but it would be a rather tragic process full of disappointment and maybe even violence. Not to speak of the possible economical catastrophe that would be the death of us all."

He smiled sadly.

"Let's have a walk, Master Cormac. I can't wait to see the city."

* * *

We walked mostly in silence, and judging by the way how Luchezarsky's eyes searched every face and street corner he was very busy with his Eagle Sense - and with giving every woman he saw a polite nod, making her blush in an instant. I decided not to fall behind and opened my own second pair of eyes, just to see my notion confirmed: There were exactly three Assassins following us over the rooftops and through the crowd. None of them wore robes - apparently the new American Assassins weren't very strict about traditions.

"We're shadowed, aren't we?" Luchezarsky asked.

"Aye, but they don't seem aggressive."

"How do you know?"

"They behave defensively."

"Probably they want to know where I'm going to live," he said, but after a glimpse at me he added: "They already know it, don't they? More likely they just want to know more about my mission and its results, just like Baron Arakcheev said. At least this would explain why there were no assassination attempts during my journey. I was almost disappointed." His lips formed a crooked smile. "Ridiculous, isn't it? Here we are, two of the most wanted Templars, and no Assassin is allowed to kill us."

"I didn't see it this way yet," I said and suddenly turned to him, changing the topic: "Can't you see the Assassins with your Sense?"

Luchezarsky nodded. "This is just the way it is. When they stand right in front of me I can tell they had a fight with their best friend. I can tell their mother died when they were about four. I can tell the wound in their left shoulder hasn't healed completely yet. I can tell they want to impress their mentor and their friends by killing me. But detect them in a crowd as they approach me - no, I can't do that." He sighed. "Baron Arakcheev wouldn't stop insisting on hiring guards."

I frowned. "To be honest, I'm surprised you're still alive."

"To be honest, I'm surprised as well," the count replied, bursting into a giggle. And greeting a random woman at the same time.

"I like you, Master Cormac," he continued. "May I invite you to my name day celebration on the 24th? It's the day after tomorrow and I plan to gather some ... interesting people there."

I stared at him. Of course I was surprised, but ...

" _Oui_ , I have very specific plans, and I'd be glad if you came," he again rushed the answer. "I enjoy your company, and it might be interesting for you as well."

For some reason I believed him.

"Then it's settled!" Luchezarsky cheered - and stopped smiling just the next moment. "A thousand pardons, Master Cormac. I just realized I was doing it all the time. People usually hate it, so please don't hesitate to stop me when I reply to something that wasn't said yet."

I gave him a careful look. "I admit it's weird to witness somebody reading your mind."

"So you understand my problem," Luchezarsky said. "Even though it's not really mind-reading but a combination of Eagle Sense, logic, life experience and observation - I just can't help it when I guess the thoughts of other people. I simply lack the patience to wait for them to say the words. My only comfort is that women like it. Which woman doesn't dream of a man who can understand her entirely without words?"

He smiled proudly, and before I could make a joke and ask him to stop making me envious he slapped me on the shoulder, grinning with his immaculately white teeth.

"I see we have much in common, Master Cormac!" he said. "And there's actually no reason for envy. Believe me, you have an irresistible charm of your own."

Me? Well, I couldn't resist the proud thought that there were quite a few girls with the same opinion ... Yet before we could continue our merry conversation the mansion rented for him and his entourage came in sight.

"Is that it?" the count asked. "I like it! Not too pretentious, but not too modest either. Thank you very much, Master Cormac."

I nodded. "You're welcome."

"Would you like to join me for breakfast? A friend of a friend of mine agreed to provide me with oysters and champagne."

... Oysters and champagne for breakfast? Was he serious?

 _"Oui. Pourquoi pas, mon cher ami?"_ he grinned, silently greeting a group of young women standing at the street corner, watching us and giggling.

I made a polite nod. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must regretfully decline. My landlady has already provided me with a delicious and very satiating meal this morning."

"I see," he said smirking, suddenly raising his hand and removing a long, golden hair from my coat. "Please give her my compliments and ..." His eyes flared for a moment. "She is invited as well. I won't deny I'm really curious about you two."

* * *

What had I expected, setting my foot into Luchezarsky's mansion on the 24th of May? The crème de la crème of New York's society celebrating the name day of a blue-blood with oysters and champagne? Me feeling uncomfortable among all those senators, generals and rich company owners, being unpleasantly reminded which social class I have been born into? Constantly recollecting the voice of Louis-Joseph Gaultier, Chevalier de la Vérendrye calling me a "cabbage farmer"?

In reality, Luchezarsky's name day celebration turned out to be the weirdest, most disturbing and ridiculous event I ever witnessed. It began with Valley clinging to my arm when approaching the mansion, seemingly without any thought to the questionable nature of our relationship. She didn't care that the invitation had come from a Templar and had spent the days in a state of almost childish happiness about the prospect to attend a social event together with me. While I couldn't decide whether to be worried or flattered she took the opportunity to challenge social norms and clung to me with a proud expression, giving women who didn't have a Shay Cormac by their side disdainful looks. Filthy Templar dogs are quite rare trophies, it seems.

Valley's behaviour had troubled me at first, but all my doubts and worries turned out to be rather silly compared to what was going on inside the house: Dirty street children were running around, playing and stuffing their mouths with cake while soldiers, craftsmen, washerwomen, workers, shopkeepers, officers, intellectuals, physicians, officials and even priests tried to join groups of their own social class and struggled to believe they were all invited to one and the same party. How Luchezarsky managed to persuade all these people to arrive would forever remain a mystery. The only hint that all this happened for real was the fact that the host had to argue with some of his guests for them to stay.

"I am sorry, but you cannot leave," he was telling an angry-looking member of the New York City Council just the moment we entered.

"You can't forbid me anything!" the senator replied firmly, being the exact opposite of his wife who, for some reason, wore an expression of dreamy stupidity, even though her face per se seemed rather intelligent.

"I'm not forbidding you to go, _Monsieur_ ," Luchezarsky said. "It's just the fact that I needed a good argument to persuade some new acquaintances from the press to attend, and so I told them you would be here. What am I supposed to tell them if you leave? That you, a representative of the people, left my house when you realized you had to share a table with, well, the people? It would heavily damage your image, Sir."

The calm and serene way he said it was a sharp contrast to the glaring eyes of the council member.

"At least you're honest," the representative of the people hissed, stamping into the heterogeneous crowd and not even noticing the happiness that spread on the face of his wife who wouldn't stop staring at the handsome count.

Luchezarsky gave her a smile and a polite nod, then turned to his next guests: Valley and me.

"Master Cormac! What a pleasure to see you again! And _Mademoiselle_ Valley! I see the rumours about your beauty weren't a lie. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance!"

"It's actually _Madame_ ," Valley said, not without some reddishness on her cheeks.

"I know, but you don't look like a _madame_ at all," he said, bending over and kissing her hand which made Valley's face glow like hot iron.

 _"Mich dünkt, Ihr seid ein Schlingel,"_ she said in German and with such a sweet smile that I couldn't help but hate it. She knew him for only half a minute!

 _"Mich dünkt, Ihr seid es auch,"_ he replied and ... He winked at her! He winked at _my_ Valley! The fact that Luchezarsky was a "brother" suddenly seemed rather trivial.

When he saw my face he visibly suppressed a laugh, shook my hand and patted my shoulder.

"Don't worry, Master Cormac, she's completely fallen for you. I wouldn't stand a chance," he whispered. "You should treat her more like a woman, though. More compliments, flowers ... This hopeless romantic thirsts for someone to court her properly."

Hopeless romantic? I gave Valley a quick look, hoping she hadn't heard that. But, being in a state of euphoria and with the rosiness still on her cheeks, she was too busy examining the other guests. Too busy to notice that two Templars had a silent conversation.

With her eyes filled with lively excitement and curiosity Valley, this wonderful being, had something childlike about her. Seeing her so ... happy and amazed suddenly gave me a chill. For Luchezarsky was right: Despite all the attention she got from her admirers she probably never felt ... loved. And being here with me meant a lot to her. In fact, with all the people - especially men - coming and going in her life, her father and her husband never paying her real attention ... She was actually very lonely. And fragile. She wasn't Assassin material at all.

"Why are you staring at me like this?"

I blinked and realized that it was Valley who had startled me out of my thoughts.

"Because you look beautiful today," I replied, hoping she wouldn't get suspicious. The least thing I needed now was being questioned by her again.

Yet a look at Valley's face was enough to know there wouldn't be a questioning this time: It was glowing just like at Luchezarsky's compliment a few moments earlier, but there was also something else in it ... something that reminded me of the faithful stare of a dog.

The count smiled.

"Please feel at home," he said, conducting us towards the crowd.

Valley didn't need to be told twice: Before I could make a move on my own she grabbed my arm and dragged me through the house.

* * *

Naturally, there wasn't much so many different people could talk about, so it was mostly the count himself who talked during dinner. However, Luchezarsky had quite a talent to keep his guests entertained. And even if he weren't able to tell stories in an interesting way his life story was interesting just by itself. Having grown up without parents, but therefore possessing a village full of serfs and being cared for by a French governess and a German teacher, he used to travel Europe from the age of ten which had made him rather fluent in a number of European languages. Early in his life he had started a military career, participated in the expansion of Russia's borders in the Caucasus and over Crimea, was awarded with two more villages, and all that only to be demoted back to lieutenant because of a duel with a jealous husband. Now, at the age of twenty eight, he considered his life to be over which actually meant that it was time for him to decide between going into politics and settling down.

Gravitating towards the latter, he was talking about how he used to live and work with his serfs for a year in order to get a better understanding of their thinking and needs when he was suddenly interrupted by Valley.

"If you care so deeply about your serfs - why don't you give them freedom?"

"Because freedom is not what they need," the Templar frankly answered.

Valley proudly raised her porcelain chin. "Everyone needs freedom!"

Some of the other guests nodded. It was to be expected from people who had just won a war for their independence.

Since it wasn't hard to guess where this was going I decided to lean back and enjoy the show, curious about seeing Valley arguing with somebody else than me.

While the fire in Valley's eyes was hard to overlook Luchezarsky replied rather tranquilly: "Everyone except people raised in orthodox traditions of worshipping humility and having nowhere to go. With due respect, _Mademoiselle_ Valley, I know my people and my country better than you do."

He turned to one of his servants and said something in Russian. The bearded man immediately collected a few unused wine glasses and built a sparkling tower in front of his master.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's pretend this is Russia," the count began his demonstration. "For hundreds of years serfdom has been the most essential part of it." He pointed at the glass in the middle of the lowest row. "The serfs provide the nobility and the tsar with goods who in return provide the serfs with protection. I won't argue it's an archaic system that needs reforms. However, reforms aren't made just like that. Because if you abolish serfdom without having prepared both state and society for this step ..." With a sudden move Luchezarsky ripped the glass representing serfdom from the table and the sparkling tower immediately burst into thousand pieces. "The land belongs to the nobility and the state, not the serfs. Freedom will lead to them being stranded, unable to provide for themselves. They will suffer hunger, disease and death, and nobody will help them. The nobility will suffer hunger too and the whole state will collapse, leading to another civil war. In order to prevent this, the serfs should be able to acquire land. The question is: How are they supposed to raise the money to buy it? Because you can't just take the land belonging to the landowners, since it's a certain way to provoke an uprising, a civil war and ultimately famine, disease and death. Before abolishing serfdom the whole state and society need to be changed, and this is a process that needs decades. Until then the serfs are at the mercy of their masters some of which are humane while others are, sadly, very sadistic. Her Majesty Empress Yekaterina Alexeyevna does her best to stop the violence ... The most prominent case is Darya Saltykova who was sentenced to spend the rest of her life in prison for serial murder and torture of her serfs. This is actually one of the few cases that make me regret we don't have death penalty anymore, because some people ... just deserve it. Most landowners just wouldn't understand that a landowner is supposed to care for his serfs like a father, just like Yekaterina Alexeyevna is the mother of our nation. I'm one of the very few who do understand it ... And maybe one day I will end up giving freedom to my own serfs. But not now. Where are they supposed to go? For now they need me. I've invited German, Dutch and British teachers, I've organized schools, I've sent a few talented young people to academies - one of them is taking art lessons in Italy ... All this wouldn't have been possible without me and my good will. Don't you think they're way happier with me than they would be on their own?"

There was a thoughtful silence and I could see the dissatisfaction on Valley's face as she desperately tried to come up with a snappy reply.

"Well, you may be a good landowner, but what about all the others? All the Saltykovas out there who see their serfs as nothing more than their property?" she finally said.

Luchezarsky smiled. "This is why I said it's an archaic system that needs reforms. It just can't be changed easily. A revolution may have worked here, but it doesn't mean it will work in other countries as well. Such a gigantic country as Russia ... We provide all of Europe with raw materials, we have the third largest fleet in the world, and we will grow even more. If a revolution happens in Russia it will shake the whole world. I don't want it to happen and, please believe me, _Mademoiselle_ Valley, you don't want it to happen either."

"Well, Britain has the largest fleet in the world and -"

"This largest fleet in the world uses Russian raw materials," the count interrupted her. "This is for one thing. For another thing, the American Revolution didn't happen in Britain. It happened in a couple of colonies far, far away without which the British Empire can still exist and prosper. Colonies declaring independence wasn't a real revolution but merely a civil war. Separatism. Nothing to _really_ shake the world."

I didn't even need to look around to know Luchezarsky had just made a few enemies. I couldn't help but smile until suddenly ... The fact that this debate _amused_ me actually meant that ... Yes, the people and the streets of New York had changed, but, more importantly, _I_ had changed. I had grown up in the British Empire, and as a matter of fact, I technically was still a British citizen. I wasn't someone returning home after a long travel - I was a foreigner only passing by, someone not concerned about what this country had went through ... I had been far away, dealing with other matters, serving no one but the Templar Order. I had outlived the New York I used to know, and so I slowly, gradually, had lost my roots.

"An old stray dog ... A rather sad comparison, really."

Luchezarsky's voice suddenly made me look up and realize the table and all the guests had vanished ...

Yes, even the mansion itself was gone. There were only the count, me ...

And the silent place- and timelessness of a target's last breath.

I tried to suppress a shiver with all my might.

"Don't worry, you're not dead," Luchezarsky smiled. "There's actually no need for someone to die in order to speak from consciousness to consciousness, you know. Certain liquids do the job just as well."

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	6. The Magpie's Counsel

**Chapter 6: The Magpie's Counsel**

 _"You are wasting your time, pursuit of vice,_

 _undignified half-witted grey old man,_

 _a foolish sign of the work of love,_

 _jabbering about a beautiful girl."_

Luchezarsky's chirping interrupted the long silence.

"I'm sorry I can't recite this masterpiece of Welsh poetry in its original language," the count continued, "but it's still very expressive, even in a prosaic translation. Isn't it, Master Cormac? 'Cyngor y Bioden' has always been my favourite piece by Dafydd ap Gwilym."

...

Just what was he talking about? In this moment ... This moment when ...

"Please calm down, Master Cormac," Luchezarsky said. "I thought you were familiar with this kind of ... communication. You don't seem to have ever been on the receiving end, though ..."

"I ... never ..." I just stammered. "You mentioned liquids ..."

 _"Oui,"_ Luchezarsky nodded. "Cleverly mixed into the food. Technically I don't need them, but with so many people to talk to I had no other choice than have a little help. Don't worry, it's nothing special ... You and everyone else are just asleep. When people are asleep, drunk or, well, dying their natural defence is weakened and it's easier to access their mind. This is also true for ... having a great time with a woman. Believe me, having access to her consciousness while bedding her is a whole new level of intimacy ..."

I made a fruitless effort to close my mouth.

"Now let's get back to the topic, shall we?" he went on chatting. "You probably already guessed that the only reason why I need you here is to satisfy my curiosity ... and yours."

"Mine?" I croaked as I struggled to believe there was a man rifling through my soul.

"Yours," the count nodded and stepped closer. "For you are as curious about my Eagle Sense as you used to be sceptical, aren't you?"

I only stared at him.

"I will teach you."

... What?

"Your father ... what was he like?"

What was this all about? How ... What ... Why ...

"Please tell me."

I shook my head, but nothing changed. This happened for real, and Luchezarsky asked me weird questions.

"He was an honorable man," I finally said.

"Is it true?"

I didn't like the way he said it. "Of course it is! He has always been my hero. I always wanted to become a sailor just like him. Ever since he gave me a little ship he made during his journeys I have been dreaming of sailing the sea."

"Look closer."

Luchezarsky was standing right next to me with his hand resting on my shoulder as I suddenly found myself at the docks of New York. Of the New York _back then_.

"Do you recognize someone?"

For some reason I immediately realized whom he meant: Among the dock workers, sailors and captains running about there was a little boy sitting motionlessly on a crate and staring at the horizon. He was quiet and lost in thought. I had to admit he looked a bit lonely.

"I know what growing up without a family feels like," I heard Luchezarsky hum into my ear. "And I know my kind when I see them."

"My father regularly came to visit me. And I actually lived with my aunt."

"Your aunt who never asked for being burdened with you, right? She took care of you only because she felt it was her duty to help. But let's be honest, without having to feed you and deal with all the trouble you caused she would have been better off. Maybe she would have even found a husband and had children of her own. Yet she ended up an embittered old spinster. Only because of you ..."

"This is not true!" I shouted.

He just frowned. "What is true then?"

"Without her ... Without her I wouldn't have had a home, I would have lived on the street ... You don't have the right to speak ill of her. Yes, I know I caused her much trouble, but she was a good woman!"

"She was good because she felt she had to be good. Just like your father who always brought you gifts to make up for abandoning you."

How could he?!

"My father did his best to earn money, so my aunt and I would survive!"

"He could have done so on dry land, couldn't he?"

"He was a _sailor_!"

"He had a son without a mother."

I couldn't bear this stupid argument anymore. "What is it you want? Do you enjoy blackening my family?"

"And do you enjoy denial?" he calmly replied. "I don't judge the actions of your father and your aunt. They did what they believed to be the best in their situation. But it doesn't make all the lies you believe in true."

"I don't believe in lies!"

"Don't tell _me_ ," the count smiled softly. "Tell _him_." He pointed at the little boy. "Step closer to him. He thirsts for company."

Much as I hated Luchezarsky's words I couldn't deny he was right about the boy. As I approached him I instantly remembered that day ... Back then, a few weeks after Liam's father was executed ... I had seen Liam again. Liam who didn't spend much time with me anymore, Liam who had seemingly forgotten about me because of his troubles. I had seen him on a street, I had tried to talk to him, to ask him where he had been, when we would again spend time together ... But he had just looked through me, ignoring me as if the brotherly connection between us never existed. Then a guard patrol came around the corner and he disappeared.

Many years passed before I realized Liam just didn't want to put me in danger. He used to rob rich citizens and was constantly pursued by the guards. Talking to me, another kid growing up in poverty, would have made me look like an accomplice. However, back then I didn't know what was going on. The only thing I did know was that my only friend avoided being around me, and so I felt abandoned. Abandoned by everyone. Abandoned by Liam, abandoned by my father who was never there when I needed him, abandoned by my aunt who worked all day, abandoned by my mother whom I never knew ... The only human I could talk to was Father Connolly. My attempts to communicate with other people always turned into trouble, maybe because I didn't know how to approach them. And how was I supposed to know that, growing up like a plant, being only fed and then just abandoned by everyone?

"I really enjoy working with people your age," Luchezarsky began speaking again. "You almost immediately get to the core of a problem. Life experience and wisdom are great, aren't they?"

I turned to him and suddenly realized I wasn't angry with him anymore.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"If you want to become better at seeing the truth in others you first need to become better at seeing the truth in yourself," Luchezarsky said. "Honesty is the most powerful thing in the world."

I nodded. "Also the most mysterious. It's usually hard to say whether what you believe in is truth or a lie."

Luchezarsky seemed satisfied. "Now tell me about that girl ... Your first love, I guess?"

The little boy disappeared and I found myself looking at five-year-old Janet Sullivan following her mother through a street. She carried a bucket of water while Mrs. Sullivan carried two.

"I always liked her. I tried to befriend her, but I didn't know what to say, so I called her an ugly cow. She couldn't drop her bucket, so she just gave me an angry look. When I pulled her hair the next day she burst into tears and ran away, crying for her brothers. When we both grew older and my feelings for her became romantic it was too late. She considered me her arch enemy by then."

"How did you learn to get along with people?" Luchezarsky asked.

I shrugged. "Well, I'm sure Father Connolly helped me a lot, even though it was too late to make up with Janet. And then ... When I started sailing with my father the other crew members taught me camaraderie. It was one of the happiest chapters in my life."

"But you still preferred to fall in love with women out of your reach, right?"

"Lizzy ..." I sighed, remembering that pretty angelic being leaning against the railing of our ship and looking out at the sea. "Aye, I enjoyed things as they were. I wouldn't have known how to entertain a noble lady anyway."

"And what about the last one?"

"Hope ..." There was this twinge in my chest I always felt when thinking of her. "I was never entirely sure about my allegiance to the Assassins, but I was glad that Liam had introduced me into the Brotherhood. I even believe my whole loyalty to them was based on gratitude. They had done much for me, and even though I never was too respectful I did my best to repay them. As for Hope in particular ... Being mentored by a woman my age was a completely new experience to me and I had difficulties to accept her as my teacher. I respected her and did what she asked me to, but I couldn't look past her beauty and formidable character. Yet our cause always had priority over personal feelings, so ... Well ... Nothing came out of it."

"When you became a Templar you killed her, didn't you?"

"Aye."

"And then you decided that someone like you shouldn't fall in love anymore."

I nodded. "Being an Assassin or a Templar is dangerous not only for oneself, but also for close ones. Having close relationships - not so speak of a family - is irresponsible for people like us."

Luchezarsky remained silent. As I looked up at him I realized something had crumbled in his inside.

" _Oui_. We are destined for loneliness," he finally said. "Or maybe it's the opposite and only such emotionally crippled people like us decide to join this stupid war."

I looked at him with a question in my head, but unable to put it into words.

"I grew up with no one but subordinates around me," Luchezarsky answered. "When I fell in love with one of my serfs I was asked for permission for her to marry a young man from the village. Which I gave. And ever since my Eagle Sense was discovered early in my childhood nobody treats me like a normal man: Some think I'm mad, some think I'm a saint, some think I'm a fool for Christ, some think I'm possessed, some think I'm just a liar ... Luckily, the monks from a monastery near my village decided it was a gift of God and that they should help me mastering it. If Russians weren't so open to mysticism my Eagle Sense wouldn't be even half as developed as it is now. I barely dare to imagine what my life would have been like if I was born in oh so enlightened Europe. Enlightenment truly is one of the greatest lies in the world if only few people can use their sixth sense consciously. The majority uses it unknowingly, calling it intuition or inspiration, all the great thinkers and artists use it, all the great strategists and politicians, but nobody is aware of it. Even the abilities of those who are, _our_ abilities, are limited. And when we are confronted with what we _could_ do ... It's hard to believe it's true. This is why merely being aware of one's sixth sense makes one an outsider. This is what just happens when you are superior, no matter whether you ever wanted it or not."

There was one thing I understood from his monologue: He didn't want to talk about something, turning the conversation into another direction.

"My family relations are not only _my_ secret, Master Cormac," Luchezarsky smiled. "Let's just say I joined the Templars to find out about my origins, getting the confirmation that my suspects about me being a bastard of someone rich, influential and worried about their reputation were right. And, apparently, I also have Assassin roots."

I frowned. "Here we are, two of the most wanted Templars, having Assassin origins."

Luchezarsky chuckled. "On a territory controlled by an Assassin Mentor being the son of a Templar Grand Master being the son of an Assassin. And in Paris I've seen the son of an Assassin being raised by a Templar. I believe this is what people call irony of fate."

I pricked up my ears.

" _Oui_ , I'm talking about the son of Charles Dorian," Luchezarsky nodded, then suddenly changed the tone. "I'm amazed, by the way, that after everything you've done for the Order you denied yourself a career. You should have a much higher rank by now, but ... When I saw you with my own eyes I realized a career in the Templar Order doesn't interest you at all. As I said, I know my kind when I see them."

"Too much politics and intrigues," I said with my thoughts still with Charles Dorian and the fact that doing what is right isn't always ... right. This is the reason why we have to decide which "right" to follow. Long ago I had chosen the "right" of humanity, the "right" of preventing catastrophes, the "right" of protecting countless lives at once. I had decided that this "right" was worth more than the "right" of one young boy losing his father. Yet while it's comparatively easy to decide between a young boy and humanity it's much harder to decide between the interests of one's comrades and one's personal feelings. Remembering Charles Dorian somehow ... Ever since I completed my search for the artifacts I was ... not there ...

As it was to be expected, Luchezarsky guessed my thoughts: "The main reason is rather that you don't entirely share the Templar ideology, Master Cormac. You never really shared the Assassin ideology, and you don't share that of the Templars. You're a man of action. Planning for the future is against your nature, yet both orders are focused on what is coming or what may come. They try to build something, prevent something from happening ... Neither the Templars nor the Assassins respect life as such. Nobody who strives for the happiness of humanity does."

I furrowed my brow. "Who if not people trying to build a better world respect life? Assassins and Templars both make mistakes. Members of both can be corrupted. Personally I've come to believing that both need each other to make up for each other's flaws. For if there is no war, no fight, when only one order dominates ... This is when corruption flourishes. In every country dominated by one of the two there is misuse of power. Even here where the Assassin Mentor is said to be very idealistic the Brotherhood tries to secure its influence. Freedom and stability are opposites. It is humanity's great tragedy that it desires both. Assassins and Templars - this world needs both, even if most of us resist to acknowledge it."

"This world doesn't need anyone," Luchezarsky replied. "In fact, this world doesn't even care. Life is life. It doesn't need Templars or Assassins."

I had to admit that, in a way, he was right. This world had already existed long before this war began; it had been just as alive, and - maybe - even happier than now. In any case, things would be less complicated for me if I weren't involved with any of the orders. I wouldn't have had to kill my former comrades, Hope, the father of an innocent boy, many other people who didn't do anything wrong but serve an ideology antagonistic to mine. I could have settled, lived in peace and ...

"I tried to talk to _Mademoiselle_ Valley about this, but, as you would expect, without any success." This time Luchezarsky actually had jumped even ahead of my thoughts. "She is young and full of strong and naive convictions. Even after all the disappointments she has went through ... Such a hopeless romantic. She refuses to accept reality as it is even when seeing it, and then she accuses the world of not fitting her ideals and suffers right up to thoughts about suicide. A very characteristic 'if the world isn't like I want it to be I don't want to live in it anymore' attitude. Poor thing ..."

So Luchezarsky had noticed it as well ... Yet ... Of course he had. It was hard not to notice, even without a specialized Eagle Sense.

"You two have a rather interesting relationship, but taking closer look everything makes sense," Luchezarsky said. "I see why you like her so much, and I see why she is so clingy to you. Yet I suppose you don't need to be told how dangerous it is. Even more dangerous than you might think."

I stared at him. He definitely knew how dangerous I believed my relationship with Valley was. But even more dangerous? Could it be more than life-threatening?

"I know you trust my judging by now and would like to ask me for advice ..." The count shook his head. "Master Cormac, there isn't anything you don't know already. All I can say is that it was foolish to start this affair to begin with. And now it's too late."

I didn't quite understand ...

"Let me explain it this way," Luchezarsky said. "I'm very much like you, and the Templar Order has given me everything it can. In other words, I don't need it anymore, so ... When Paulette is safe I plan to join the monks who helped me. And please don't look at me like this. Yes, I don't believe in the Christian god, but I've travelled the world, I've tried so many things ... But happiness was always out of my reach except for ... When I lived and worked with my serfs ... Just life itself, just doing what you have to do is the only true happiness. I was born with a special gift that can help people, and people looking for help often come to monasteries." He looked up. "A man's place is where he is most needed."

Not there ... A fulfilled purpose? The emptiness inside ...

"I'm going to leave now," Luchezarsky's voice sounded next to me. "Everyone will wake up the next morning in their own beds. I will see to it. And except for you nobody will remember their conversation with me. It's the effect of another substance that ... causes a state of extreme drunkenness. Nothing harmful except for a really bad sickness the next day. So ... Don't worry about Valley. And remember: honesty. Everything else about talking to a consciousness you already know."

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...

The translation of _Cyngor y Bioden_ quoted here comes from the following website: dafyddapgwilym . net


	7. Cutting Onions

**Chapter 7: Cutting Onions**

Tears poured down my cheeks as I cut onions for a meal that was supposed to satiate dozens of people, and I couldn't help remembering my first years of sailing when I was the youngest crew member and thus got every task nobody else wanted to do. The only difference was that this time I was doing it out of my own free will.

Anna, the cook of the Black Horse Tavern, lay sick in bed, Lisa served the guests, Amadeus had been sent out to deliver a message and Grete was cleaning the rooms. Valley worked in the kitchen all by herself, and as I offered her a helping hand she instantly remembered she hadn't had her revenge for the tableware she had destroyed while chasing me through the tavern two months ago, so she gave me the most unpleasant task she could think of. To her greatest disappointment, I didn't show any resistance and dutifully put my best skills to cutting the onions into thin pieces.

Even though I considered myself pretty good with knives, having used them to kill people for decades, it turned out that Valley could wield a knife far better. She cut the ingredients so fast that it sounded like a drum roll. Watching her using her knife so skillfully surely made the fact that she had killed at least four men with her very hands much more believable ... In the end, there actually _was_ a weapon she could wield. And I knew that, whatever was going to happen, forgetting the kitten had claws would be a deadly mistake.

It was just when I wiped away my tears for the thousandth time and received a devilish grin from Valley that Henry Fern entered. He was a man of medium height, not too thin and not too fat, just as average as a human being can be. He had a suntanned face, grey hair and a gaze that clearly indicated some kind of absentmindedness, since he often looked up as if doing mental arithmetic. The moment I first met him I immediately had my answer to why he never noticed his wife's cheating.

" _Grundgütiger_ , Valley!" he exclaimed as he entered. "Do you really make a _customer_ work for you?!"

Before Valley could answer I stepped in: "It was my idea, Master Fern. I'm awaiting a message from a client, so I can't leave the tavern. I'm glad there's something I can do to kill time."

Fern gave me a surprised look. "Oh, well, then ..." He paused. "You escort merchant ships, right?"

"Aye," I nodded. This was what I told everyone who wasn't supposed to know about my true purpose here. And it was the first time I wished I would have come up with another lie ...

"Do you have many contracts right now? I was told you've been staying here for half a year now."

"I have some important dealings with my partners here in New York," I said.

Fern sighed. "Pity ... Lost some valuable cargo two months ago. I've heard you're very experienced. I could use the service of someone like you ..."

I didn't say anything. Surely I would have liked him much more if he just didn't happen to be Valley's husband. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't my fault. It was the result of natural circumstances.

If not for Valley's knife, the silence between us would have been physically palpable. She was still cutting the ingredients, completely ignoring our conversation.

"She's quite a busy bee, isn't she?" Fern suddenly muttered, his eyes resting on Valley. "Whenever I see her she's working. Has always been like that. Kind, humble and hard-working. I swore her father to look after her, but business always keeps me away. Leaving her behind all alone with all these drunken sailors and dock workers ... I'm glad there's at least one decent man around here."

I gazed at him. Was he really talking about the Valley I knew? ... Kind? ... _Humble?!_... I gave Valley a surreptitious look and found that there was something stiff about how she kept chopping the crops.

"She has grown up in this tavern," I replied to Fern. "She knows how to handle herself."

"Coming from you, it sounds like it's true." Fern sighed with relief and turned to go. "Well, I have an important meeting with potential partners. Good luck with your client, Master Cormac."

"I make my own luck," I hissed, failing at a polite nod.

Fern just smiled and stepped outside, leaving me to my thoughts. We had known each other for almost three days now ... How could it be he still didn't realize I didn't like him? Yet just as one part of my brain asked the question another answered that it was obvious: A man who was so much into his trade that he couldn't even keep his word to his deceased friend surely didn't notice anything beyond his business.

"Why the gloomy face, Shay?" Valley chirped, collecting my onions.

"He doesn't know you at all, does he?" I grumbled.

"That's the meaning of it all," Valley shrugged. " _I_ know him pretty well and can foresee his every move, he treats me nicely, he gives me the status of a married woman, and he's always absent, so I have all the freedom I can dream of. He's an ideal husband."

I stared at the table and shook my head. "He's not a husband at all. He doesn't ... He can't really _cherish_ you ..."

Valley's hands paused before collecting the last onions.

"Marriage isn't about cherishing each other, Shay." Her voice sounded strangely weak. "I inherited this tavern from my father, but Heinrich is the rightful owner. All my possessions belong to him through marriage. In return, I have his protection and the rights of a married woman. I have all the freedom I need to run this tavern. I've turned it into the best tavern in New York, I've achieved power and connections through it, and I want it to grow and flourish even more. Without Heinrich there's no Black Horse Tavern. Without the Black Horse Tavern there's no Queen Valley."

She put the last onions in her bowl.

"Marriage is about business."

* * *

I didn't quite remember when it had started. Maybe ...

 _"Master Cormac, there isn't anything you don't know already. All I can say is that it was foolish to start this affair to begin with. And now it's too late."_

I hadn't seen Luchezarsky again. The morning after his name day celebration everyone found themselves back home in their beds, not remembering how they got there and feeling extremely ill. They all knew they had been at Luchezarsky's, some of them even remembered the count talking about Russia's society, but then everyone finished their recollections with: "Must have drunk too much."

It was almost scary to be the only one who knew about Luchezarsky "searching" our minds, and looking back at that night ... I still couldn't believe it really happened. Especially considering that Luchezarsky had vanished the next day, leaving no trace behind. Judging by how this frustrated Valley, he probably did it to get rid of the Assassins. Even though they didn't plan to kill him, they still didn't have to shadow him all the time. It was much wiser to choose carefully which information to leak. So Luchezarsky was a witcher indeed.

Part of me regretted not having asked him more questions. Not having asked him how to understand his ... advice. Strangely, I felt like he had told me exactly what to do. - Only he hadn't. He hadn't told me anything at all. What did I know? That Valley's life purpose was dependent on the tavern and her husband? I knew that, I knew I could destroy the heart of the Assassin network simply by destroying Valley's marriage, and I knew that Valley knew it as well. Sooner or later I would destroy her anyway; there was no alternative as long as we were enemies.

I also knew that her husband's absence and him failing to carry out his obligations as a husband was a very legitimate reason for divorce. Valley did have the option to be more independent, but since Henry Fern would keep the tavern and all the other possessions Valley would lose her power and live in poverty. If she lost her status as "queen" there wouldn't be many people to help her, and many would take the opportunity to get revenge. Surely the Assassins would take care of her, but without a tavern she would be useless to them, and someone like Valley couldn't bear to live like that.

In the end, Valley had walked into a trap, and I had the power to activate it.

* * *

With all that in mind, I couldn't deny I was in a trap myself, feeling eerily comfortable there. In fact, I remained completely calm as I saw those far too familiar robes while enjoying my well-earned cup of tea. My strongest emotion in that moment was indeed plain curiosity.

It had been quite a while since I last saw Achilles' coat, but I recognized it in an instant, even though the man wearing them was different. Connor was different.

It was hard to miss that he didn't like unnecessary words. Once he entered he only nodded at Valley and then at the man and the woman following him, apparently Assassins, but not wearing the robes. While his two subordinates took a seat at a nearby table he turned and walked straight at me.

I wasn't surprised at all. Was there any other reason for the Mentor to be here? No. So I just took another sip of tea, cursed the onions for the slow recovery of my eyes and was just about to turn a neighbouring chair in a welcoming position as Connor suddenly stopped.

"Master Connor! What a pleasure to see you again!" Henry Fern grabbed his hand and shook it. "How is your boy? Business is going well, I hope?"

My mouth dropped open. Of course I knew about Connor managing the trade of the Davenport Homestead, but ... With that ominous hood and all the weapons he was carrying it should have been obvious his priorities were somewhere else. Fern was a really, _really_ special case.

The Assassin Mentor seemed to share my opinion, as he wordlessly removed Fern's hands and walked past him. I couldn't help it: I liked the lad already.

I glanced at Fern and saw Valley whispering something in his ear and directing him upstairs. For a moment her eyes rested on me, then they switched to Connor and the two other Assassins. I just nodded. I didn't need to be told that any wrong move could be my death. Even without Connor's Assassin escort ... The Mentor was young, he had a stronger build than me, and there could be no doubt about him being an extremely experienced warrior. Apart from all that, I wasn't even armed except for my hidden blades and a small dagger. If they attacked my only chance to survive would be to break through the window to my right and run for my life. That wouldn't be my first desperate escape, though, so I still didn't worry. After all, if the Assassins really wanted to kill me they would have done - or at least attempted it - long ago. So it was pretty obvious Connor only wanted to talk. And that made me even more curious.

"I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance, Connor," I said, smiling.

Connor gave me a slow nod and took off his hood. This was when I froze for a second: That face. The ethnicity of his mother was written all over it, but ... I didn't even know exactly in which features it lay, but there was a close resemblance to the Grand Master I still remembered and admired. Yet looking in his eyes made me realize he wasn't any like Haytham Kenway at all: Despite all the men Connor had killed his gaze still remained clear and innocent. Not even his brutal-looking tomahawk and his rather savage hairstyle could hide the gentle nature shining through his eyes. The hairstyle, by the way, obviously used to be a war haircut a few years ago, since his strands decorated with beads and feathers still varied in length. A silent remnant of his hunt for the Colonial Templars. It was five years now that he had killed his father ... my Grand Master.

"Please follow me outside, Master Cormac," Connor said slowly.

"Well, it doesn't look like I have a choice," I grinned as I stood up, following him through the door and then to the docks. I was surprised I didn't have the feeling of being watched. There really were only Connor and me with all the sailors, dock workers, captains and merchants for us to blend in.

"This is a good ship," he commented as soon as we reached the Morrigan, carefully examining her.

"Aye, she is," I nodded. "My most loyal companion. Yet I suppose you didn't come just to look at my ship, did you?"

"You are right," he said calmly. "I already know about her everything I need. And you know thanks to whom."

I nodded again. "Valley."

"We have learned very much about you during the past six months. You allowed it to happen."

I smirked. "There isn't much for me to hide. As for the precursor artifacts, I know they're safe."

"I am not interested in the artifacts," he replied, still very tranquilly. "Achilles has told me about them. I hope no man's hand will ever touch them again, though I do not believe it." There was bitterness in his voice. "Humans are greedy. Very soon the lectures of the past will be forgotten, and those who swore to protect mankind will grab for power once again. The Revolutionary War was fought in the name of freedom and some achieved it while others did not. There are no real changes. Only shifts of power."

I felt there were too many things he tried to express through these words. And I also felt I understood all of them. Somehow.

"If you're not after the artifacts, then what are you here for?" I tried to redirect the conversation back to a clearer path. "I'm not involved in any Templar activities. I don't even know whether my efforts are of any help for my order."

Connor's expression hardened for a moment.

"They are," he said. "But this is not what I need to talk about. I came here solely for you, Master Cormac ... You are a legendary Assassin hunter, and yet you prefer not to take any action."

"Well, taking action would mean to provoke _you_ to take action and destroy us completely. For some reason you, too, prefer to not to take any action and allow us to exist in this country."

Connor gave me a piercing look. "I know my father was right when he told me the Templars would always rise again."

"And so you let us live to keep an eye on our activities." I voiced a truth I already knew.

"This is not the only reason."

I looked at him more intensely. Was I subconsciously trying to read his mind?

"You used to be an Assassin." As he started walking around me, not letting his eyes off my face, I felt he was trying to read my mind as well. "You act like an Assassin. You protect innocents - like an Assassin."

This was getting very ... personal. I forced a smirk on my face.

"Is it an invitation to rejoin the Brotherhood?"

"No." Connor smiled sadly and produced a book from under his robes. "This is my father's journal. He kept it since the age of ten. He was a Templar, yet he had been meant to become an Assassin, and he always believed he acted in accordance with his father's Assassin ideals. There was a time when he believed a unity of our orders was possible. There was a time when I believed it as well."

"Then this is an invitation to unite?"

I had to admit that keeping the smile on my face was becoming harder with every word he said.

He shook his head. "No. I have learned my lesson. As have you, I suppose. I only wanted to meet you."

The scales fell from my eyes. Of course. He wore Achilles' robes and he had Grand Master Kenway's features, but he was different. The person he reminded me most of was ... _me_.

Suddenly mind-reading was creepily easy: "You're looking for an alternative path. A way to make changes actually happen. When the Assassins are in power and try to influence politics and society and thus behave more like Templars ... You're still trying to build a better world where everyone would get along and live happily ever after in peace and freedom. And you believe that meeting me would give you ... ideas and inspiration?"

Connor remained silent. So I was right. The Assassin Mentor famous for destroying the Colonial Rite was mentally cornered, lost somewhere between right and wrong - just like me.

When Connor finally spoke his face wore the stoic expression of a man in power: "If you decide to leave with Valley, then you have my permission to do so."

Now it was me who was speechless. I had expected many things, but not _that_! While I was just standing there, trying to grasp what I had just heard, Connor turned, made a gesture through a window of the Black Horse Tavern and then left with the other two Assassins. Watching them slowly blending with the crowd, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was part of a rather strange and dangerous experiment.

* * *

"Master Cormac! Shay!"

It was the first time I saw General Lamb so overwhelmed by feelings. With his eyes wide open and his face pale as if he'd seen a ghost he ran towards me and grabbed my shoulders.

"I'm glad you're alive! You met _him_ , didn't you? My men reported me that Connor was in town. They tried to warn you, but they found the tavern occupied by Assassins and ..."

"We only had a friendly talk, General," I smiled, trying to calm him down.

"A friendly ..." He let go of me and shook his head. "You ... you were luckier than most of us."

"I make my own luck," I grinned, yet Lamb's face remained pale.

"Please be careful," he said. "As I already said, we can't afford to lose you."

"You won't," I replied, starting to get serious as well. "It seems I'm actually under the special protection of the Mentor himself. An honourable man. Seems disoriented, though."

Lamb nodded. "As I somewhen mentioned, he has a conflict with his wife ... uhm ... lover ... Meggie the Parrot. And also with the majority of the Brotherhood who want to secure what they had fought for. This country still hasn't quite decided in which direction it wants to go, and there are still discussions about its constitution. The Assassins have the means to influence George Washington, and if the president is given more power, they'll virtually rule the country. However, the more ... democratic this country is going to be the weaker the Brotherhood's influence and the better our chances to grow. Ironic, isn't it? I tell you, by autumn we'll have a fiery public discussion, and I'll do everything I can to strengthen the position of the states against the national government. The last thing we need is the return of monarchy, even if the monarch is called a president. I've received reports that Connor has given a special order not to harm me."

"Poor lad." I sighed. "He has lost so much, and he'll continue to lose."

"One really can't help sympathizing with him," Lamb nodded again.

For a while we stood in silence, then the general suddenly changed the topic:

"I almost forgot to tell you I've received a letter from Count Luchezarsky. He's on his way back to Europe now and he has shared his thoughts with us. His predictions for our country are rather ... bitter."

For some reason I wasn't surprised. Maybe I'd lived for too long to believe in Utopia.

"What did he write?" I asked.

"Well, he did mention that discussion about our constitution as well as some major differences between the north and the south. He is convinced that sooner or later it will lead to a civil war. He is also not very fond of democracy itself. Apparently he had the opportunity to meet some European monarchs and crown princes and likes the fact that most of them were educated as future leaders from birth on. He says that being born and raised as a ruler frees most people from the thirst for power, because they already have it. At least, he claims that most royals he has spoken to have a strong sense of responsibility for their nation and make decisions they sincerely believe to be right. When they decide wrong - which obviously does happen often - according to Luchezarsky, it isn't because they are selfish, but because they are still merely humans who can easily fall victim to bad advice and manipulation.

"As for democracy, however, he fears that, in the first place, it will serve people who are ambitious, selfish and power-thirsty. People who will tell any lie to win the elections. He also thinks that with time candidates will rely more and more on sponsors which means that power will shift into the hands of the greedy and rich with no ideals.

"He also mentioned what he calls 'Western arrogance'. He says that he knows it well, being Russian and thus belonging to a nation which is constantly called uncivilized and even was victim of the later crusades despite the facts that it's Christian, that it has its own unique history and culture and that even their peasants have a better hygiene than European nobility - whatever he means by that." Lamb paused for a moment, apparently overwhelmed with the count's statement, then he continued: "Well, he believes that Europeans - and we Americans apparently as well - usually look down on everyone who isn't us. He criticizes slavery and our relationship with the natives, and he says that sooner or later we'll find new victims to look down upon. He believes that the idea of democracy is ideal material to be perverted in order to legitimize new crusades. 'The higher the ideals the more horrifying the violence committed in their name,' he writes."

"Aye, the Assassins would stick at nothing in the name of what they call freedom, and as soon as Connor is dead and his legacy forgotten there might be indeed great bloodshed again." I furrowed my brow. "The count has made some dark predictions. Did he offer any solutions?"

Lamb nodded. "Even though he is a monarchist himself and believes that his own country still needs a strong tsar for the people to believe in, he actually does like the idea of Russia also having some kind of a parliament to hear the people's voices. He isn't all against democratic ideas and he admits that after everything that has happened here a return of monarchy would actually harm our young nation. In fact, he shares my opinion that the states should keep as much of their autonomy as possible, so every state can exist according to its own rules without the need for interference in each other's business. He says that in a country where individual rights are valued so highly it would make groups of people unhappy if these rights were going to be limited by a strong national government."

The general sighed, then he looked at the sky outside the window and smiled: "I have to admit I had some concerns about Luchezarsky being a straight monarchist, but now I see that what he truly believes in is that every country has the right to choose its own individual path, just like any person has the right to live their own life. Despite all the differences between us and the Russian Rite he does support our cause and wishes us luck in keeping this country peaceful. He is a wise man."

"Aye, he is." I followed Lamb's gaze, watching the clouds floating peacefully across the sky. The more one thinks about it the more confusing it gets. Living in a world where right is wrong and wrong is right depending on perspective and circumstances means living in a world where all ideals are obsolete. Is this true freedom, opposed to what the Assassins believe it to be? Being trapped in a dilemma myself, I knew true freedom was a burden nobody really wanted. I yearned for someone or something to force me to take one direction or another. I was no Luchezarsky who could analyze the present in order to predict the future and choose the best path. All I wanted was thinking about the options of a nation as well as my own not to feel like cutting onions. But obviously I was asking too much.

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	8. Fools and Amateurs

**Chapter 8: Fools and Amateurs**

July, sun, blue sky and a forest river near New York. My head rested on Valley's lap as I struggled not to fall asleep in this moment of peace and quiet. I had managed to convince Valley to come out of the city for a picnic and ... swimming lessons. She had loved the idea of a picnic immediately, but it had been a remarkably stiff job to get the kitten into the water. However, after much screaming, cursing und accusing me of trying to drown her she actually had made a little progress. She had started to accept that water wasn't an enemy and that it was a wonderful thing on a hot summer day. The road ahead was still long and rough, though.

The sun was shining down on the two of us resting on the riverbank as we waited for our bodies to get dry again, so we could set out for the city. Our horse grazed nearby. It had been both of us today who had made progress. Valley had agreed to learn how to swim and I had been on horseback for the first time in a year. I had never been fond of these animals, and having spent most of my life time on a ship had spared me much trouble. However, time and again there were situations when riding was more reasonable than walking, and sometimes little sacrifices need to be made in order to fulfill one's desires.

It always comes down to whether the required sacrifice is something one can bear or not. Can you bear the risk to fail? Can you bear the risk to hurt someone you love? Can you bear constantly putting a loved one in grave danger?

In the end, even this moment of peace couldn't keep my fears away from me. Valley's fingers running tenderly trough my hair suddenly felt so painful. Too painful. I sat up, so her hand dropped to the ground.

"What is it, Shay? There's always something bothering you. You're always trying to escape. I thought we've already sorted it out: I choose my lovers myself and I chose you."

Valley was getting angry again. I heard it in her voice, I felt it with my whole body. I hurt her with my fear.

"It's not ... about age," I muttered, not quite sure what I was to tell her and what not.

"What then?" Her expression was demanding. It was one of these moments when she wouldn't let go of me until she got an honest answer. "Is it about us being enemies?"

I looked to the ground.

"Aye."

I knew there would be a tirade now. She would call me silly, get angry, feel insulted. Valley used to turn into a volcano when her feelings were hurt. She would forgive me very soon, but before that I had to survive somehow.

To my greatest surprise, there was no volcanic eruption this time. Only a warm embrace and a whisper: "You're not alone. It's the two of us. We'll sort it out somehow."

It was a pain I had never known but nonetheless had always tried to escape. The pain of the truth Luchezarsky had tried to show me. The truth that I was so used to loneliness that I was afraid to see beyond its borders. Every bond to another human being had resulted in pain and on my run from it I had learned to avoid close relationships. I had never stayed in a place for too long, I unconsciously developed feelings for women I couldn't have and I had stopped believing in heroes at a quite young age.

Valley's situation was the same, and maybe this is why we met. We both longed for something we feared most. This was what was really dangerous about us, not the fact that we were enemies. We were perfectly able to destroy each other even without fighting.

The least thing I wanted was her to suffer. As I looked at her devoted expression I couldn't tell whether I smiled because she was such a sweet kitten or because I tried to cover up my pain.

As I kissed her I swore I would do anything for her to live a long and happy life.

* * *

It was only a few weeks before ... Well, the worst thing about that day in early August was that it was a sleepy, sunny, not to say idyllic afternoon that revived the feelings and my oath back by the forest river. I was on my way back home from Lamb's, looking forward to dinner and the bottle of mead Valley had been given by a friend. This was when I felt a cold hand creeping down my spine.

As I looked around with my "other" eyes I noticed a very familiar figure slipping behind a corner. The young boy made his way through back alleys, constantly turning around and shaking with nervousness. What an amateur ... And definitely not a proper Assassin, as he seemed oblivious to the benefits of blending with the crowd. Following him was so easy that later I even wondered why it had taken me so many months to take notice of him. He didn't even look up at the roofs from where I watched his every step! A child's play ...

When the amateur finally stopped in a backyard I recognized another familiar figure. Valley. Not many words were exchanged, just a greeting, and then a piece of paper was passed into Valley's hands. Both left in opposite directions.

For a few moments I sat motionlessly, as if frozen to the rooftop. Whether I liked it or not the moment I had dreaded most was there. Yet ... If I worked subtly there was a chance I wouldn't have to kill Valley. This was the best strategy anyway. To remain hidden and try to get a look at the document without the Assassins even noticing. Patience was the key ...

Valley was much harder to track than the boy. _She_ was an Assassin. Even though she didn't climb the roofs herself she knew that _I_ did. Clever girl ... She knew many people around the city, entered their houses and left through the back door. When walking the streets she would stay with the crowd. She even had someone take her in his carriage. If not for my Eagle Sense, I certainly would have lost track of her. And what was worse: She went past so many people that I started to wonder whether she might have passed on the document already and now was merely distracting me.

Was this document _that_ important? If it was, then I had to make sure she still had it. And my Eagle Sense wouldn't allow me to see through her clothes.

The boy ... Valley ... my oath ... the importance of the document ... my mission ... Valley's hiding skills ... I was aware of my nervousness and it made me even more nervous.

However, it wasn't the time to take a moment and calm down. I had to do something. I had to make sure I wasn't fooled. I had to ... In fact, I didn't even think much about what to do. I just did the first and worst thing that came to my mind.

I left the rooftops and blended with the crowd, trying to get closer to Valley. She was good, but I was better. I didn't know whether she tried to hide because she knew I was there or merely because she considered this possibility, but I knew for sure that I couldn't pickpocket her, as she wouldn't be foolish enough to hide an important document in a pocket. The most realistic location for the document was her décolletage. In other words, I had to get close to her. So close that she would see me. And my foolish idea was to stage a random encounter.

I slipped past her and made my way to the other side of the street. Then I frankly looked in her direction and called her name.

"Didn't know I'd meet you here," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Same here."

Valley looked a bit pale. Surely she suspected something.

"Are you on the way home?"

She just nodded, her lips pursed.

Yes, she was a _very_ bad actress. She was completely unable to control her emotions, and she didn't like the situation at all.

"Then we can walk together!"

I suddenly had come up with another idea: If Valley still had the document, then my presence would prevent her from interacting with other agents. And, well ... Judging by the way how she had went pale and reticent the document was still there. This was my chance to get it into the tavern. If it was to be destroyed, then Valley surely would have done so already. It was meant to be passed on, so she wouldn't have another choice but to bring it into a house where I knew every possible hiding place. If she left it unattended for only a few moments I had a very realistic chance to have a look at it.

At least, this is what I hoped for. But what I didn't take into account was that Valley was aware of the dangers of taking the document home as well and that her mind was also producing strategies. After walking in awkward silence for quite some time she suddenly ...

My left foot exploded in pain and with the realization that one or two of my toes might be broken there came another blow to the gut. I gasped for air, my knees weakened ... and all I could do was watch as she gathered her dress and ran.

I clenched my teeth and forced my body to move. It obeyed only hesitantly, but slowly my steps got faster and I ran on my screaming toes. I've survived worse, was what I repeatedly told myself.

The broken toes of my left foot, my right knee still reminding me of my age ... If not for my Eagle Sense and Valley being slowed down by her dress I wouldn't have had a chance. But like this, I found her. She was running as fast as she could with her chest squeezed by her corset. She brushed aside baffled passersby as she made her way through the city, taking random directions and running in circles as she tried to get rid of me.

The closer I got to her the more desperate became her movements, until she made another sudden change of direction and ran towards a group of city guards, screaming for help. I knew what this whole situation looked like, and even though many guards knew Valley and about my affair with her I didn't have time for excuses and explanations. So I forced my aching body onto the rooftops, barely able to suppress a cry with every jump I made.

With the city guard on my heels I continued my hunt for Valley. I couldn't afford it to hide and wait until the guards lost sight of me, and I was running out of smoke bombs. Slowly but surely I had to admit that I couldn't avoid bloodshed anymore. My hand grabbed a berserk grenade, I turned to the guards and fired. I heard shouts and the clashing of steel as the guards started fighting each other. Then I produced a sleep dart and fired it at Valley.

For a moment I just stood there, listening to the death screams of the city guards. Then, hobbling, I made my way towards Valley's motionless body lying on a street deserted by frightened citizens. As I kneeled beside her and carefully let my hand slip into her décolletage I almost cried with relief that I hadn't had to kill her. I was such a fool. Trying to get the document without the Assassins even noticing ... Putting Valley to sleep was what I should have done in the very beginning. How many lives could have been spared this way!

Once I had the document I didn't stay for long. Valley would wake up soon, so I jumped around the corner and ran again, this time looking for somewhere to hide.

A fence in a backyard wasn't an ideal hiding place, but the best I could find for now. My knee and my toes refused to take any more steps and I collapsed with my back against the fence. Then I unfolded the paper.

It turned out to be a list. A very detailed list, mostly with names I didn't know. A few, however, were rather prominent politicians. And judging by the comments, notes and explanations they were all either Templars or sympathizers of the Order. People whose identities were supposed to be kept secret. The Assassins tolerated our presence for now, but with this list they would be able to wipe out every single person with connections to the Order in no time.

I needed fire. To destroy this paper. I had gunpowder. I could ...

Once again the cold hand touched my spine.

"Here you are," said Valley, standing some twenty feet away from me, clenching a brick with her fingers.

I tried to move my legs, but the pain in my right knee was strong as never before. Every little move felt like torture. The pain that had got hold of my toes wouldn't allow me to stand up fast enough. All my strength to fight the pain had been blown away the moment I had sat down.

I didn't have another choice.

"Let's get things straight," I gasped, producing a pistol. "Even if I put you to sleep again I still won't be able to get away from here before you come back to your senses. So if you come any closer I swear I will kill you."

Valley hesitated for a moment with her eyes resting on the gun barrel. Then she looked up, directly in my eyes, and made a step forward. I shot. She faltered.

There was a strange mixture of surprise and calm on her face. Her bitter smile looked like she hadn't expected anything less from me. As she fell to her knees she pressed her hand against the red stain beneath her chest, lowered her gaze and examined it almost with curiosity, seemingly trying to suck in as much of this new experience as possible.

"Well, the pain is slightly different than I imagined ..." she squeezed out from her mouth before her body hit the ground.

I was sitting with my back against the fence. Motionlessly. Paralyzed. Smelling the smoke still coming from the barrel of my gun.

I was an Assassin hunter.

After all those years.

Ever since I had joined the Templar Order I had never failed a mission.

And I had never cheered about it.

Why was I doing this?

Why on earth did I still participate in this war, having already recovered and hidden the manuscript and the precursor box?

I muttered a curse and leaned on my air rifle to stand - creep - up. I was barely able to breathe as I moved, slowly, clenching my teeth, sweating. Escape? Now?

I collapsed by Valley's body and turned her on the back. Her cheeks were still rosy like cherry blossoms. My fingertips brushed over her porcelain skin. So young, so fragile ... My fairy, my kitten. Dead by my own hands.

This was when I was struck by a sudden pain between my legs. The world stood still. At least for me.

As I squirmed with pain I saw Valley stand up, her left hand pressing against her wound and her right hand clinging to the brick.

"This is why I warned you to behave and not to fall in love with me, Shay Patrick Cormac," she wheezed, prying the document out of my hand.

I had so much pain already that I barely felt it when she struck my head with the brick. Then everything went black.

* * *

I don't remember how I came back to my senses. All I know is that some time later I found myself still in pain, with blurred vision and a headache on a stolen horse, galloping back to Lamb's. The only good thing then was that my knee had calmed down and I was able to limp into the general's study on my own feet.

"Master Cormac! You're alive!" Lamb exclaimed as I entered. He jumped up and bolted at me. "What happened? A chase, several city guards dead, my men couldn't find you ..."

I just stood there, breathing heavily, not in the condition to speak yet.

"I ..." Lamb seemed to understand I needed a moment. "I took care of those dead guards. You aren't charged of any crimes. You just had an argument with Mistress Fern and were accidentally nearby when the fight happened. The guards just ... A couple of them went crazy for unknown reasons. As far as I know this is the closest to the truth. Nobody saw you firing from the roof, as everyone was scared by the fighting and the smoke."

It was pathetic ... Compared to my silent assassination of Charles Dorian in Versailles ... What had I become!

"But what I still don't understand ..." the general continued. "What was this all about?"

"A list," I finally said. "A list of everyone connected to the Order. Valley took it back from me."

Lamb went pale. "So the Assassins know about all our allies?"

"Aye. Remember when I warned you about a spy in our ranks? I've seen him."

"It's Jim, isn't it?" Lamb's face was white like a sheet of paper by now.

"You knew it?"

"I ..." He dropped his gaze. "I didn't want to know. He was way too curious, but ... he ..."

The general never finished his sentence. Instead, he stepped to his desk and rang the bell. We waited in silence and as the boy rushed through the door I stepped behind him and closed it.

The snapping sound made Jim tense up.

"I believe you know why I called you," John Lamb said with a husky voice.

Jim gave me a quick look. His eyes were widened as if I had risen from a grave. Perhaps dead is what he had believed me to be until this moment.

"Why, Jim? Just why?" Lamb's voice was shaking.

I saw the boy's hands turn into fists as he turned around and confronted his benefactor.

"Because my father was murdered by a Templar." For a moment I was surprised how firm he sounded. "He was murdered for no reason, without need. Back then. When the war was still going on. My father was born in this land, but he was a loyal British officer. I was curious and sometimes used to secretly watch him. And I saw with my own eyes how your beloved Grand Master Kenway and Connor captured him and two others. How they questioned them. And how Haytham Kenway killed them all."

"Connor was there as well," I said behind his back, still guarding the door.

"He was against it," Jim snarled. "He would have let my father live."

"The general saved you from the streets."

"Without the Templars I wouldn't have ended up on the street to begin with!"

I looked up at Lamb, at his petrified expression. We both knew there was no alternative. Jim had a strong conviction and he knew too much.

"I am the butcher here, General," I said, hoping to make it all easier for him. I engaged my hidden blade and held it at Jim's throat. "Any last words?"

"To hell with the Templar Order!"

I nodded. His death was quick.

* * *

Despite still being pale like a ghost Lamb protested as I turned to leave. I should stay in his house, he argued, he would call for a good doctor, we had to discuss the Order's future actions. I declined. I knew Lamb was right, but my only desire for today was to go home. By now the Black Horse Tavern indeed was what I called my home. With its brick and wooden walls, its smells ... and Valley.

I didn't even wait until a carriage was prepared. I left on my stolen horse, still with blurred vision, yet determined to persevere until I made it to the place where I had belonged for the past seven months. Was I still welcome there?

I suppose I drew many stares as I entered, lurching and my face covered in blood, but I didn't pay any attention to it. I limped upstairs as fast as I could, almost pushing over an elderly man.

"Master Cormac!" he exclaimed and I recognized Doctor West who took care of Valley's health since she was little.

"Is Valley here?"

"You look horrible!"

"Is she here?"

He gave me a startled look. "I don't know what happened, but she's here. I've just extracted a bullet out of her. Whoever shot her aimed well. Half an inch more to the right and she would be dead. I believe her corset has played a role in her survival."

My heartbeat increased. "Will she recover?"

"I hope so," West sighed. "Yet in any case, it certainly won't increase her chances to ever get pregnant. Her body is damaged by nature, and now she damages it even more with her _adventures_."

"Damaged by nature?" For a moment I didn't feel any pain.

West furrowed his brow in surprise. "I thought you knew about it! I mean ... With so many lovers and never getting pregnant ... Well, she _does_ get pregnant sometimes. We usually notice it when a miscarriage happens. When her bleeding is even stronger than usual."

All I could do was staring at him. I was an even bigger fool than I had thought, I realized. I had suffered because Valley had walked into a trap, but in fact she had been trapped even before I met her. Sooner or later the matter of having an heir would grow more urgent to Henry Fern, and then he would divorce her. Being her father's friend, he wouldn't send her to the street, but she would spend the rest of her life as a useless parasite without any freedom of action. The only way to escape this was to fasten her ties with the Assassin Brotherhood, a parallel society, in which, however, her status would still be remarkably reduced as soon as she lost the tavern. In other words, Valley had every reason to live the risky life she lived. It wasn't childish, naive bravery but the realization that there wasn't much society, the Assassins and life in general could offer her. She always got what she wanted simply because she had to take it herself.

"I need to see her," I said, my voice nothing more than a whisper.

West shook his head. "She's asleep. She needs rest. Please, Master Cormac, please visit her later. At least let me have a look at your own injuries first."

I hated him for saying this and I hated my mind for admitting he was right. My head was still bursting, my toes were howling and a numb feeling warned me that I was on the brink of passing out.

With a quiet growl I ultimately obeyed.

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	9. Marked

**Chapter 9: Marked**

More than a year had passed since that fateful day when I shot Valley. It was September of 1788, the American Rite still existed and the brightest minds in the country argued over the new constitution which gave the president more power than the previous one. John Lamb fought fiercely against it, trying to protect the autonomy of every single state, as he hoped to make an alliance between the Templar Order and some of the governments. During our last conversation in November of 1787 he wouldn't stop walking back and forth in his study like a caged animal, cursing and comparing the new constitution to absolutism. "This is not what we have fought for", he muttered again and again, leaving me unable to say my farewells. Judging by the letters he wrote me he had spent the whole year in a constant state of anger.

Maybe he was right and maybe he wasn't. How was I supposed to know? The new constitution was good for the Assassins and bad for the Templars. Neither of both organizations actually asked the people. Throughout all of human history both Assassins and Templars had been doing what they _believed_ to be the best. What really _was_ the best nobody could know.

When leaving New York last year I had believed to do the best, too. And now I was here, the Morrigan given to the Order, her crew disbanded and my weapons left behind, on a merchant ship entering the Davenport Bay as a voluntary hostage of the Assassins.

It was almost physically painful when the hill with the manor came in sight. Many things seemed changed. The place seemed more enlivened than it had been when the old Brotherhood under Achilles still existed. At least, judging by the harbour. There hadn't been such a busy harbour during _my_ time. The Assassin hideout had turned into a proper settlement.

For me, it felt like a pretty cover that did a poor job at hiding what had happened here decades ago. My desperate escape that had started my own war in which I had killed so many people dear to me. It was my first visit here after all those long years.

A tiny figure appeared on top of the hill. As I narrowed my eyes I identified it as a man and had a very clear idea of who it might be. If not for Connor, I don't know what I would have done. Maybe I would have come anyway. And then they would have had me killed.

As the anchor was dropped and preparations to go on land were made I spotted the fiercest supporter of my death among the Assassins. Down there on the jetty was a crate, and on that crate sat Meggie the Parrot, the Assassin who wasn't an Assassin and couldn't care less about the Creed. I recognized her by her robes which indeed made her look very much like an exotic bird with its bright orange, green and blue. Her very appearance was a violation of the second tenet of the Creed, since I heavily doubted those clothes were of any help for hiding in plain sight. Her mother had been an Assassin residing in Boston, I remembered from my study of the Colonial Rite's archive, and after I had killed almost all of the Brotherhood's leadership it wasn't long until my fellow knights took care of the rest. Of all the people living in this country she had most reason to thirst for my death.

When I was walking on land there suddenly was a dull sound and I saw a knife sticking in the wood, just in the spot I was about to set my foot on. When I looked up the Parrot stood right in front of me, slender, muscular and almost as tall as me.

"I respect Connor's wishes, but one wrong move and you'll reunite with your beloved Grand Master Kenway in hell, old man," she hissed with a rough, broken voice. Down on the ground she made a movement with her foot and the knife flew up high at the level of our eyes. She caught it with the three fingers of her left hand. The little and the ring finger were but two scarred stubs.

"This prospect doesn't sound too bad," I riposted, well aware that my words were my only weapon now.

The Parrot gave me a poisonous smile.

"Then there's at least _something_ we can agree on."

* * *

That fateful day had been the first time I used my eyes in Luchezarsky's way. After Doctor West had taken care of me I scuffed into Valley's bedroom, finding her deathly pale and asleep. I sat on the bed as quietly as I could, my head still bursting with pain and my vision blurred.

I don't know for how long I didn't dare to touch her. Valley looked like a porcelain doll more than ever. An unpainted, entirely white, lifeless doll. I felt my body trembling, but I couldn't do anything about it. I just sat there, staring at what I had done, remembering all kinds of little moments - her fondling the back of my head, us singing "Drunken Sailor" with steins of beer in our hands on her birthday, me teaching her to swim ... I also remembered Hope. The story was about to repeat itself. It already had. That she still lived was a mere coincidence. And maybe a gift.

"What should I do?" I whispered, not addressing anyone in particular. I stretched out my arm to touch her face with my fingertips. "It was all wrong. Wrong from the very beginning. And now ... What should I do?"

I was no Luchezarsky, but I had to become one. Honesty ... This was what I lacked, according to the count.

"What should I do?" I asked again, my hand now completely resting on her face. She was very weak. She would let me in. So I addressed my question directly at her: "What do _you_ want me to do?"

I felt a hand on my face.

"You're alive. I'm glad."

I looked up. It was Valley. Valley and me. Alone in a dark, endless eternity.

"I didn't want to hurt you," was all I could say that moment. "Forgive me, Valley, forg-"

She laid her fingers against my lips.

"We both did what we had to do. We both knew this would happen sooner or later. Still, I'm glad it's not the end yet."

"But ... We can't live on like this! We will -"

"We have never lived another way."

"Valley!" I grabbed her shoulders, holding her tightly as if I expected her to vanish every moment. " _You_ can't live on like this!"

"You have no idea, Shay!" She shook my hands off. "You have not the slightest idea about me!"

"I do know about your infertility. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Her expression remained dark. "You never asked. And why should I even tell you? It's none of your business."

Her words pierced me like a spear. "None of my business? You just said it yourself: I had no idea about you. How am I supposed to live by your side when I don't even know -"

"Just _live_!" she shouted. "Drop your doubts and fears already and _live_ with me, Shay. _Trust_ me. Trust and believe in me. But I'm asking too much, right? You never had faith in that fragile, little girl I seem to you. You never believed I could make a good decision of my own. You think you know what is good for me, but you have no idea. God, you men are always so _presumptuous_!"

"I do trust you, Valley! I always did!"

"Then why are we having this conversation? It's only because you can't accept that I don't mind dying by your hand!"

I grabbed her shoulders again.

"But _I_ don't want to kill you! All I want is you to live a long and happy life!"

I hated myself as tears gathered in her eyes.

"I am not destined for a long and happy life. You know it."

 _"Not destined?!"_ I shook her. "I don't care about destiny. I make my own luck. And I want you to make your own luck as well. Divorce - just divorce Fern before he divorces you. Neglecting his obligations as a husband is a valid reason. Just divorce him and build your own life. With the Assassins - without the Assassins - I don't care. You're a very clever and talented young woman. You could do anything! Who cares about the rules of society? You never did, did you?"

The tears were running down her cheeks as she shook her head. "I'm not like you, Shay. You have - you _are_ everything I ever wanted for myself, but I'm not like you. I've never left New York. I've never even left this tavern. I don't know anything of the world. I would be like a fish out of water."

I let go of her shoulders. "So you're just afraid. You're more afraid of the unknown of the world than of the unknown of death."

"Maybe," she sobbed, "maybe I really _am_ just a stupid, little girl."

That moment she was neither a fairy nor a kitten. And I realized the true danger of our relationship. It was just too obvious.

The age gap.

I was fifty five. She was twenty one. I had seen the world. She hadn't seen anything beyond New York. I was an old and experienced Assassin hunter. She had been an Assassin only for a couple of years.

The responsibility in and for our relationship was all mine.

I pulled her closer to me and embraced her, brushing through her hair. I was so much more than a lover to her. She wanted me to always be by her side. But it was not possible. She was young and had most of her life still waiting for her. _My_ life had almost passed.

I couldn't do it to her. She needed to start a new life. A real, new life of her own.

When she woke up the next morning all she could remember was that she had had a dream about me, not any details. I, however, had made a decision. A fatal decision.

* * *

It wasn't like I didn't suffer as well. I knew Valley wouldn't let me go, so on that day in November of 1787 I left without warning, without even saying goodbye. Valley had noticed I acted strange, of course, but she couldn't tell what it was all about. She had no idea that the only reason why I had stayed for the last couple of months was to make sure she recovered well. As soon as she was back to her old self and her wound had healed enough to be nothing more than a scar, I left. I had told Lamb I had become too old for hunting and spying on Assassins, I had told him that the pain in my knee had become worse and that I wouldn't be of any use doing mental work for the Order, as the world of politics and intrigues wasn't the right place for an old sailor like me.

I had officially retired from the Order, but while I roamed the harbours of the north they still sent me recruits for training. I didn't mind. It was a good distraction between drinking beer and drinking rum, and I gave the young ones a hard time. They always looked so happy when they finally could leave for warmer regions and more pleasant company.

One day a recruit found the courage to express his disappointment: He hadn't expected the legendary Shay Patrick Cormac to be such a drunk, he said. To his surprise, I didn't even let him run a hundred times around the tavern with no coat on. Because he was right. All I could do was to warn him that by joining this war between Templars and Assassins he would end up a drunk just like me.

I remember that conversation well, because it happened on the same day when I found Amadeus' letter in my pocket. It had just been in there, coming out of nowhere. It was obvious the Assassins had a hand in it.

It turned out Amadeus had become an Assassin himself sometime after I left New York, but he had known about the Brotherhood all along. Apparently he had paid someone of my crew for providing him with information about my whereabouts, so when he needed to contact me he did. It was, obviously, about Valley.

"I learned about her pregnancy in January," Amadeus wrote. "She hadn't told anyone except for Doctor West. She had thought it would end with a miscarriage as always, she said. To her surprise, it didn't. She wanted to risk an abortion. The Doctor and I advised her against it. West even bluntly told her he wouldn't do it, no matter how much money or how many threats she'd approach him with. She was furious. At first I didn't understand, but when Fern returned in April and saw her belly there was a scandal. In short, he divorced her and kept the tavern.

"She is now looked after by Doctor White in the Davenport Homestead. But it's not any use. She's weak, she's angry, and she refuses to eat. We somehow manage to make her eat at least a little, but it's not enough. I know she would kill me if she knew I'm writing to you, but I believe you're the only one she would listen to. She started to become like this right after you left. She kept cursing and hissing for weeks. She wasn't herself anymore, and losing the tavern has made everything even worse. So it's all basically your fault and it's up to you to make up for everything you did to her. At least think of the child. After all, she hadn't had any other man ever since she met you. There can't be any doubt: The child is yours.

"So take responsibility, damn it!"

Amadeus had never really liked me and he had always been right. This time he was right as well. Despite my head being clouded by rum I sent for ink and paper and began writing a letter to Connor ...

* * *

Amadeus' letter had reached me in late May and the negotiations had taken another two months. August had been lost for preparations, for leaving the Morrigan to the Order and for thinking through an emergency plan in case the Assassins didn't fulfill their part of our agreement. It was so pathetic. I could have come to the Davenport Homestead long ago, but then the Assassins would have had me killed, not giving me any chance to see Valley. And sneaking into the settlement was too much of a risk with all the Assassins there and my knee. What I had told Lamb about it hadn't been a lie. And that year of drunkenness in the north really had made things worse.

Meggie the Parrot went behind me, ready to shoot me if I didn't obey her commands. She was the mother of Connor's three-year-old son and I tried to distract myself by wondering why on earth he chose someone like her, but I quickly realized that without knowing their story I wouldn't be able to figure out the answer, so it didn't work.

The world was just so ironic and wrong as I walked up the hill and past the Davenport Manor, then down towards the settlement. Why did things always end badly when I tried to do good? Was someone like me really able to help Valley? Or was I too late after all those months? If the last time we saw each other was in November ...

"At least tell me if Valley and the child are alive," I said over my shoulder.

"You wouldn't be here if they weren't," Meggie's rough voice replied.

"How are they? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Just keep going, old man, and you'll see," she grunted.

It really was no use, I realized. I couldn't expect anything but hostility from the Parrot. Right now she wasn't only the daughter of an Assassin of the old Brotherhood I had betrayed but also a mother bear. If I said any other word it could be my last. So I kept going in silence, still wondering why it was me who had been "marked" by Valley. I knew the answer, of course, by now I knew it. I had always known it. Luchezarsky was right. And Valley was right as well. I had never been able to let go of my fears. I always had been running away from her, from responsibility. Even my decision to leave her for her own good - I had been just running away. Why ... Why on earth would a clever, beautiful and talented girl like Valley suffer from losing such a _coward_ like me? Why was this world so _wrong_?

These questions didn't get me anywhere, I knew that, but I failed to make them stop circling in my head. The walk through the settlement turned more and more into a blurred dream, with colours and shapes slowly dancing around me as I walked for eternity. An endless, painful eternity.

Finally Meggie the Parrot made me enter a tavern. The room was full of sounds and smells, but I can't say I remember anything in particular. As we entered my watchdog pressed her pistol against my back, yet she didn't tell me to move any further. Then, suddenly, I saw a shape rising in front of me. I blinked, trying to get my vision clear again. It was Connor. He nodded at me and gestured somebody over to us.

A man in a wig and a woman with a child in her arms approached.

"Oliver and Corrine," Connor introduced the couple. "They own this tavern, and while Valley is still recovering they look after your daughter."

My knees weakened for a moment, but the gun barrel in my back quickly reminded me I wasn't allowed to move. I don't know how I managed to remain on my feet, but as soon as I regained my strength I found my whole body convulsed.

"You will be given a room here and you can move freely around the tavern," Connor said, and just as I was about to thank him Meggie added: "One step outside - and any Assassin will kill you on sight."

I nodded. "Understood."

"Then we will leave," Connor said and walked straight through the door, followed by a few men and a woman. Among them was Amadeus. The Assassins had gathered here to memorize my face.

Meggie the Parrot was the last to leave. Before stepping outside she turned around and gave me a long look.

"I don't know what you did to her, but you better set things right again. She's only twenty two."

As soon as the door snapped shut I was able to breathe again.

"These are some harsh conditions," Oliver said feelingly.

I just nodded. It was clear these conditions were a compromise between allowing me to move around in the settlement and killing me. But I wasn't in a position to complain. Just being allowed to be here with Valley was more than I could have hoped for.

"She's a healthy girl," Corrine tried to lighten up the mood and raised the child a bit so I could see it. "Her eyes have the same shape as yours."

I looked at the girl. I had never been able to see any similarities between newborns and adults, but I decided to believe her. It was strange enough to look at that little being and to know that it somehow was made of me. And it was even stranger to think about how many bastard children I probably had all over the Atlantic coast and that only this one ... somehow ...

"Where is Valley?" I asked.

Oliver touched my shoulder.

"Come, I'll see you to her."

* * *

"What do you want?"

Valley didn't even look at me.

I had spent the past few months preparing an apology speech, a greeting, _something_... And now I was here, all silent, my voice lost.

"What do you want, Shay?" she repeated her question. "Why are you here? I was told you'd come and I know your steps. I could always tell where you were going back in the Black Horse Tavern. I know the sound of your breath. I know it's you, so tell me why you came here."

"To be with you," I squeezed from my dry throat.

"You didn't want to be with me a year ago."

"I always wanted to be with you."

"Why did you leave then?"

Her quiet voice made chills run down my spine. The Valley I used to know would shout at me and try to kill me with her abacus. The Valley I was looking at was calm as she stood by the window of her spacious room. Her bed wasn't made and she wore her nightgown. The sun shining through the fabric revealed a thin, fragile body. Even her once bright golden mane looked weak and lifeless.

"I ..." What was I supposed to say? "I believed I would protect you this way. I believed I couldn't be with you. I wanted you to start a new life on your own. I wanted you to find the courage to leave your old life behind and build something new. I wanted you to be happy, and I didn't believe I was the right person to be by your side. But in truth, you've always been right. I'm just a coward."

She snorted. "Congratulations then. You finally realized that."

It hurt. She hadn't warmed up at all.

"Valley ..."

She remained silent.

"Valley, what else do you want me to say? I've risked my life to come here. I've told you I was wrong. At least look at me!"

"I don't want to."

I couldn't remember any words that might have felt colder than these.

"What do you want then?"

"I want you to leave."

"Valley!" I wouldn't leave it at that. I stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Her face was gaunt and the rosiness on her cheeks had vanished. There was only a pair of greyish-blue eyes filled with cold indifference.

"I didn't come here to be told to leave," I grunted. "I know I was wrong and I know you don't want me to leave."

"You have not the slightest idea about me, Shay," she said, still imperturbable.

For some reason I felt she was right. But ... I couldn't ...

"I know you always wanted to be with me," I whispered. "I'm ready now. I've cut my ties with the Order and they don't know about my whereabouts anymore. We can escape here any moment. It's not far to Boston. I have my gear there and a few men. We can take a ship to Havana. Or anywhere else. We're just one step away from a new life. Together."

I had hoped for something. At least a spark of something. But I got nothing.

"Stop these childish fantasies, Shay," she said with a completely emotionless face, shoving me away. "It's not about you anymore. You've betrayed me, just like everyone else. Who says you wouldn't do it again? Men are weak. _You_ are weak. _I_ am weak. Our whole existence is cursed."

The chills running down my spine were colder than ever.

"What do you mean?"

"That it's no use," she shrugged. "You can do whatever you want, but it has always been this way and it will always stay this way. Weak humans fighting for something they can't have. The world just being there to hurt them. Let's stop fooling ourselves just for one moment. Life is a cage and we're just weak creatures telling each other fairytales, so we wouldn't realize it. I'm tired, Shay, I'm just tired of all this. I can't keep lying to myself anymore."

I took a step backwards, but I noticed it only a moment later. Valley wasn't even a shadow of her old self. She was a _ghost_. Her white nightgown glowed in the bright light of the sun. Like a vision from a different world.

"Please leave me now," she said.

And I obeyed. I left the room, shaking, speechless, weak. Wishing for her to at least hate me.

* * *

To be continued next Friday ...


	10. Helena Walburga Cormac

**Chapter 10: Helena Walburga Cormac**

I hadn't talked to Valley since. I had tried, but she ignored me. As if nothing had ever happened between us. So after every attempt to talk sense into her I ended up drinking ale down in the tap room as a fruitless attempt to wash down my bitterness. Sometimes I would watch Corrine feeding the child with a pewter bubby-pot and ponder about when the world had become so wrong and unfair. The worst thing about this whole situation was that I was perfectly aware that I spent every day wallowing in self-pity.

It was four days after my arrival and Corrine was once again feeding the child. It was evening and almost sleeping-time for the little one. A few sailors and residents of the homestead were also there. Among them was Father Timothy who presided over the local church. He observed the feeding procedure just as mindfully as me.

"Does the mother still refuse to feed it herself?" he said with a pitying look on his face.

"She hasn't recovered yet," Corinne sighed. "Her 'illness of spirit' is persistent."

"I see." Timothy gave me a brief look. "We don't know what Our Lord has planned for us, but we should help each other. If we can't help the mother yet, we should at least do something for the child."

Was he talking to _me_? I was just about to ask him what he meant when I heard the voice of Amadeus who guarded the door: "What do you mean?"

"We can't give her the love of her mother, but we can at least give her a _name_."

The moment he said it I suddenly felt self-hatred rise in me. Why hadn't _I_ thought of this? It was my child after all. Somehow.

"Are you sure _we_ should do it?" Corrine paused, then glanced at me too. "Well, her father is here. How would you like to call her, Shay?"

My thoughts were racing as she stepped to me and held the child in front of me. How ... What ... Why ...

"I don't know ..." I looked at the tiny being in Corrine's arms. She had huge eyes and a fluff of dark hair. No name. "Do you have any ideas?"

"She's going to be very pretty when she grows up," Corrine said. "I would give her a name like ... something beautiful."

"Beautiful ..." I looked up at the ceiling, but there was no name written. So I said the first thing that came to my mind. "Helen of Troy?"

There was a pensive silence among us.

"She's half German, so it should be Helena, not Helen," Amadeus finally broke it.

Another pensive silence.

"Helena then," I said and gave the child another look. Weird, actually, how it had been just "the child" only a moment ago - and suddenly it was Helena.

When I looked up again I saw Corrine and Timothy smiling.

"Why, hello little Helena!" Corrine chirped with that voice women usually make when talking to children and little animals.

Timothy patted my shoulder. "It's a fine name."

I just nodded, my mind empty. Something had happened. The child had a name now.

* * *

Dizziness clouded my head as I fell into the night air. I waited for a moment, then moved as quickly and quietly as possible away from the tavern. The Assassins always had someone patrolling it inside and outside, so staying here was risky.

I made my way through the bushes, moving slowly in the direction of the hill. I had heard Achilles' grave was there. It was a destination worth risking one's life, I had decided then and made it the goal of my secret night walk. The truth was, however, that I needed fresh air.

The silhouette of the manor looked exactly like thirty three years ago. The bushes on its north side were also still there. Good for me ...

My knee had been protesting all the way up here, and the moment I slipped in those bushes a strong pain struck me. My mouth dropped open for a moan.

This was when I heard voices. I stopped breathing until the urge to moan calmed down. The pain still remained, though. I was fifty seven years old. Three more years and I would be sixty! What was I doing crouching in the bushes?

The voices came from the porch of the manor. I knew them both: Connor and Meggie. The Mentor and his least scrupulous subordinate. They would notice me if I tried to leave. So I had no choice but to stay where I was.

"Well, let's count how many times you've been deceived by now," the Parrot's voice rattled. "George Washington burning down your village along with your mother and then relying on your help without ever telling you the truth - one. The colonists relying on your help and then driving your people away from their land - two. That spirit using you for her own purposes, never minding your sacrifices - three. Kanen'tó:kon turned against you by Charles Lee - four. Your father using you - five. The people worship you as a hero, but they give you nothing in return. You should stop allowing them to hurt you."

"I do what I have to do," Connor replied laconically.

"Who decides what you have to do?" Meggie sounded frustrated. "You don't owe anybody! I'm tired, just _tired_ of watching your self-destruction!"

"You told me yourself to always stay like this."

"I did, and sometimes I regret it. Don't you understand that by letting that traitor stay here you're risking our son's life? And not only his! This place is full of potential hostages! Remember the day we met! One hostage - and you were disarmed and knocked unconscious. If they hadn't believed you know the identity of the spy they would have killed you!"

"He is not the kind of man who would harm innocents. He went as far as to betray his brothers because of it."

"Probably because he failed at explaining what exactly happened in Lisbon. I bet he just burst in shouting accusations instead of giving them a full report of what he had seen. Achilles realized that hunting for those artifacts was wrong when he saw one, right? Cormac should have described the object."

Everyone around me was right. Always. I had thought about that night many times - about what might have been if I had behaved more level-headedly. But I had never been good at making wise decisions. I shouldn't have joined the Assassins in the first place. Meddling in the fate of the world was just _wrong_. And it had taken me too long to realize it.

"He did what he did," Connor said. "He has made mistakes, but as far as I know he has never acted dishonourably. He will not take hostages. His feelings for Valley seem sincere."

"Even if they are," Meggie argued persistently. "How do you imagine their life together? Valley knows Assassin secrets, he knows Templar secrets. Even if they both withdraw from this war they will be hunted down sooner or later. And now they even have a daughter! She'll grow up in constant danger. Not only because of her parents, but also because of her Eagle Sense. It's a rare ability. Rare enough to be kidnapped and then raised as a living weapon. And I'm pretty sure she has it. Your grandfather Edward had it, your father had it and you have it as well. _He_ has it and is rather prominent among both Assassins and Templars. The girl is doomed. She'll be safer and happier if she stays here. Corrine and Oliver wouldn't mind. They don't have children of their own, and Corrine adores the girl."

"It is not for us to decide what should happen to the child." Connor's tone allowed no backtalk.

"Who if not us, Connor? Valley is slowly killing herself and the traitor is drinking himself to death. Even if they come to their senses - do you really believe that at least one of them is capable of being a parent? They're both so absorbed by their self-pity ... They don't need the child. They don't love it. I accept you want to keep the promise you gave him, so I won't stop the two of them from leaving. But the child stays here. I'll take care of it myself if I have to."

Through the leaves of the bushes I saw the metallic flash of a knife. And once again I had to admit that she was right. She was the cold, merciless voice of common sense. A voice many Assassins and Templars - including me - preferred to ignore when they meddled in affairs too big for them.

* * *

I don't know how I made it back without being noticed. Maybe Connor and Meggie just went away, maybe I somehow managed to sneak away from their ears ... It doesn't matter. Just as it didn't matter that moment when I slipped through the window of my room.

Why had I come here? Even Amadeus had never expected me to. In his letter he had suggested writing to her, but I had cast away that idea. It hadn't felt right. - But coming here had turned out to be not right either.

Valley's condition hadn't improved after my arrival. I had broken her trust not only in me, but in everything. I should have thought of the kitten back when I left the Black Horse Tavern, the kitten scratching at my door, and the fragile fairy who had warned me not to fall in love with her. I had tried to protect her. And so I had hurt her like no one else could ever have. All because I had always lacked faith in the woman I loved. So had it even been love? Was I actually able to love?

Probably not. Those visions Luchezarsky had showed me were true. I had never experienced love. How could I give something I'd never had myself? Something I didn't know the meaning of? Whenever I developed feelings for someone I started to behave like a bull in a china shop. I wasn't meant to have close relationships.

I wasn't the right person for Valley or anyone else in this world, yet still she chose me. It was a miracle. Just as it was a miracle that she got pregnant and had carried the child to full term. It was a miracle that a mother who was said to have been losing weight instead of gaining it during her pregnancy had given birth to a healthy child. The only thing that didn't fit into this row of miracles was that I wasn't able to make my own luck.

Once again, it was a decision quickly made. I was aware it was night. I was aware Valley needed to sleep. I was aware there was only little chance this conversation would be different from the others. But I had to try it again. I didn't come so far just to give up!

I jumped up from my seat and hurried as quietly as I could into Valley's room. It was dark in there, of course. No noises. Even her breath was so silent that I couldn't hear it. So she did sleep sometimes. Corrine and Dr. White had told me she struggled with it.

This made me halt for a moment. If she didn't get much sleep, maybe it would be better to leave her alone. Maybe she would feel better the next morning - and more optimistic ...

No. I couldn't go back now. Tomorrow _I_ might be as discouraged as ever. I couldn't wait. Not now.

I took a few steps in the direction of her bed, then I stumbled over something soft and heavy. I stopped in surprise. What was it? I didn't remember anything lying on the floor in the middle of Valley's room.

I knelt down to inspect it. I reached out my hand, I felt cloth, then hair, then ...

No.

I jumped to my feet, ran outside and hammered against the door of Oliver and Corrine.

A bleary-eyed Oliver opened. "Shay? What ... Why ... Did something happen?"

"Send for Dr. White," I gasped. "Something is wrong with Valley."

This news seemed to wake Oliver up. His eyes widened, he nodded and called for his wife, then the tavern grew more and more noisy. I found a candle and lit it, then hurried back to Valley's room. In the faint golden light I could see her lying on the floor in a rather unnatural pose, a puddle of a black liquid around her. I knelt down again, dipped my finger into the liquid and then held it near the candle. It was blood.

My heart stopped for a moment. It wasn't what I thought it was, right? My hands trembled when I turned her around and saw her motionless face. Her eyes reflected the candle like an empty mirror. Under her was a bowl that apparently had been turned around when she fell. Close to it were her hands. Her wrists were slashed.

I don't know for how long I just knelt there, my mind numb, refusing to understand what I saw. She wasn't ... She didn't ... I ripped my waistcoat apart and pressed the pieces against her wounds. I took her pulse, feeling none. I held my hand over her nose, but she didn't breathe. I laid my head against her chest, but everything was quiet and dead.

Suddenly light flooded the room. As I looked up I saw Oliver and Corrine, Dr. White and Father Timothy, men and women, many shocked and curious people. Somewhere a child was crying.

Dr. White knelt down beside me to examine her.

"She's dead," he whispered. "Died maybe two hours ago."

"She isn't dead," I grunted against my better knowledge. "She wouldn't ..."

Dr. White didn't say anything. He just stood up and made gestures for the curious and whispering crowd to leave.

Corrine stood there, deathly pale, covering her mouth with her hands. "What should we do, what should we do, what should we do ..." she whimpered.

"Prepare a funeral," said Father Timothy, just as pale as her.

"Can't we ... save her?"

There was no answer, for the answer was obvious. I looked down at Valley's thin body, her weak porcelain body that had been dying for months and now was dead. I looked at her cheeks, once rosy like cherry blossoms in spring, I looked at her eyes, once so lively and smart, at her lips, once so red after a kiss ...

"Leave," I heard my voice rattle. "Leave ..."

And when I looked up and saw them hesitating I shouted: _"LEAVE!"_

* * *

Eternal days passed, all blurry like a dream of emptiness. Did I eat? Sleep? I don't know. All I remember is staring at Valley's dead body day and night, numb, disgusted and at the same time strangely fascinated at the sight of the transformation of her once so beautiful appearance. Her skin turned yellow, white and blue, her noise pointy, her dead body transformed into somebody else, erasing the woman I loved from the face of earth. I watched her vanish, feeling nothing and everything. I watched and I didn't even move when they carried her away.

I wasn't allowed to attend her funeral. The rule that I had to stay inside was still intact. So nobody even tried to make me move. On the first day Oliver and Corrine had suggested I should get some rest or at least eat something, but I had told them to leave me alone. They hadn't approached me since.

However, now that Valley's body had been taken away the empty space it had left somehow broke the spell and I soon remembered who I was and what I was doing here. Was I hungry? Strangely, no. Tired? Probably yes, but I didn't feel it.

I was sitting on a chair in Valley's room, alone and hollow, having no idea why I even existed.

This was when something prickled up my spine. Instinctively, I sat up straight and listened to my body. It wasn't the same feeling I had when enemies were near. But even though it was entirely new it also felt somehow familiar. And warm.

I stood up, following my "other" eyes, a voiceless whisper. I followed my instincts and suddenly found myself in Oliver and Corrine's bedroom. I stood by the window, looking down into a cradle. Two huge eyes looked right into mine. Helena Cormac was looking at me as if she waited for me to explain the meaning of life.

"I don't know it," I quietly told her.

She didn't seem satisfied, as she kept staring at me. What was going on in that head too big for its body? Did she have any thoughts yet? Did she need something?

If she were hungry she'd cry, I figured. What if she was just curious? Corrine also didn't attend the funeral, since she would rather look after the child, but right now she was downstairs, thinking that Helena was asleep.

Well, Helena wasn't asleep, and just lying in a quiet, empty room surely was boring. I was the only thing that moved, so this was probably the reason why she watched me so mindfully.

Once again I found it curious that she was my child and even had a name. She was so tiny I maybe would have been able to hold her in one hand. Or maybe it was just me who was so tall. When I stretched out my finger to touch her it looked giant compared to those tiny, little hands that clasped it.

She had an unexpectedly strong grip, actually.

"Your finger is confiscated," said her firm and serious expression.

When I looked in her face again I realized how familiar it was. That shape, that nose, those lips, those ears ... and fear. That endless eternity that surrounded us, that moment beyond time and space, that state so often connected with death was filled with savage fear, calm and quiet, yet fierce, eating away our souls.

I knew this fear too well. The next moment I stumbled backwards, away from the cradle, my heart racing, my chest hungry for air. All of a sudden my mind was awake and clear. Had I just read Helena's mind? Unconsciously? Accidentally? It made sense. She was just a couple of weeks old. She didn't have any thoughts yet. She had _feelings_. Shaped by the first experiences of her life.

Helena didn't understand it, but she was a deeply unhappy person already. She had never felt the warmth of her mother, she had never drunk milk from her breast and she never would. She had people caring for her, but deep inside she made no mistake about them not being her parents. With time she would forget it, she might even believe to be their daughter, but it wouldn't change anything about her very first experience in life being loneliness and fear.

As soon as my heart began to calm down I stepped to the cradle again, looking into those huge eyes, wondering if she somehow knew I was her father. I had never held her in my arms, but maybe she knew it ... instinctively?

I stretched out my hands and carefully picked her up, trying to hold her like Corrine always did. I was very clumsy, I suppose, but Helena didn't complain. She just kept staring at me like a cat at her bait. Her little hands moved aimlessly. Her little body was warm and alive.

A tiny heart was beating, a small chest rose and fell and a pair of eyes filled with a whole world was looking at me. She was Valley's child. My child. She was alive and Valley was dead.

With her still in my arms I sank down to the floor and cried for the first time in years. This was how Corrine found us.

* * *

With blankets tied across my chest I ran through the night while Oliver and Corrine distracted the Assassins. Inside those blankets, pressed against my body, Helena Walburga Cormac inspected the buttons of my new waistcoat. She was calm as ever, serious and watching.

On my back I carried everything we needed, gifts from the inhabitants of the homestead. Spare clothes, a blanket, food, milk - enough for us to make it to Boston. My only worries were that Meggie could get wind of our escape or that something might happen to Helena. But I just had to make my own luck. Not for my own sake, but for hers. And for Valley's.

I didn't know yet that everything would go smoother than I expected. That within a few days I would find a wet nurse ready to go with us south. A ship ready to be boarded. And a safe passage to Havana.

I didn't know yet that Helena would survive several diseases. I didn't know that she would grow up a clever girl, much cleverer than me, and that she would turn out to be her home tutor's bane, always up to mischief during her lessons. That when she grew older she would often be escorted home by city guards for stealing fruits in someone's precious garden, and that my neighbours would give me wry looks, commenting that I was raising a son and not a daughter.

What I knew, however, was that I would give her everything I could. I knew there wasn't much I could teach a daughter, but since I would spend as much time as possible with her I would tell her stories about pirates and sea devils, I would show her how to use swords and guns and I would teach her how to sail. I knew that I had to do everything in my power to spare her that loneliness and feeling of being abandoned both Valley and I had experienced. I just _had_ to give her what I had never received myself. A man's place is where he is most needed. If it wasn't given to me, then I had to find it myself. It was my life purpose now.

What I also was aware of was that I would have to lie to her about her mother. She would ask questions, she would want to know everything and I would try and keep the story as true as possible, but telling her that her mother died in childbed. I would also have to tell her about "evil people" spying on us, so she would keep both her physical and her "other" eyes open for danger. I would eliminate those people as quietly as possible, so she wouldn't notice. Everybody trying to approach us secretly would die. Yet one day, when she was old enough, I would still have to tell her the truth about Assassins and Templars. For her own safety. Sooner or later I would die and she had to know who those spies were and why they were interested in her.

I knew and didn't know many things. But when I ran through the forest that night they didn't matter. Only Helena did.

Suddenly I stopped. The familiar feeling of a cold hand crept up my spine. I turned around.

There, in the trees and against the moon, was a black silhouette. It didn't move.

It was Connor.

I pulled out the knife Corrine had given me. The Assassin Mentor saw it, the blade flashing in the silver light, but he remained motionless.

I put the knife away and bent my head. The Assassin Mentor's head, too, went down for a moment. I stared at him, then turned around and continued my escape, slowly realizing that no one had ever done as much for me as Connor. Not even Liam, the Finnegans and Colonel Monro.

I wrapped my arms around the bundle tied to my chest. The stars glistened in Helena Walburga Cormac's eyes. I embraced her with all the warmth I had.

"Everything is alright," I whispered. "I love you."

* * *

The End

I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for reading!


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